Barnaby Rudge
Part Two (1780)
by Charles Dickens
Adapted for the stage by Bruce Cromer
“No account of the Gordon Riots having been to my knowledge introduced into any Work of Fiction, and the subject
presenting very extraordinary and remarkable features, I was led to project this Tale.
It is unnecessary to say, that those shameful tumults, while they reflect indelible disgrace upon the time in which they
occurred, and all who had act or part in them, teach a good lesson. That what we falsely call a religious cry is easily raised by men
who have no religion, and who in their daily practice set at nought the commonest principles of
right and wrong; that it is begotten of intolerance and persecution; that it is senseless, besotted, inveterate and unmerciful; all
History teaches us. But perhaps we do not know it in our hearts too well, to profit by even so humble an example as the 'No Popery'
riots of Seventeen Hundred and Eighty.” ---- Charles Dickens
Time and Settings
1780; parts of London and its environs
Dramatis Personae
At the Maypole Inn:
John Willet - slow, burly, and obstinate landlord of the Maypole
Joe Willet - his son, in love with Dolly Varden, thirty years old, broad-shouldered and strapping, but now a
one-armed man
The Stranger - sixty-five or thereabouts, scarred cheek, bearded, meanly and poorly clad
Tom Cobb - general chandler and post-office keeper
Phil Parkes - the ranger, tall and long
Solomon Daisy - parish clerk
Hugh - hostler at the Maypole, athletic with gigantic strength
At the Warren:
Geoffrey Haredale - owner of the estate, brother to Emma’s murdered father
Miss Emma Haredale - daughter of the late Reuben Haredale, in love with Edward Chester
At the Varden’s Blacksmith Shop, in Clerkenwell:
Gabriel Varden - locksmith, plump and comfortable, past the prime of life
Martha Varden - his difficult wife
Dolly Varden - their beautiful and flirtatious daughter
Simon (Sim) Tappertit - thirty, Gabriel’s diminutive but majestically-minded apprentice, in unrequited love
with Dolly
Miggs - Martha Varden’s servant, in love with Simon Tappertit
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 1
In London:
Mrs. Mary Rudge - Barnaby’s mother, in her early fifties, widow to the murdered steward of the Haredale
house
Barnaby Rudge – the son of Mrs. Rudge
Grip - Barnaby’s pet raven
Sir John Chester - Edward’s father, enemy of Geoffrey Haredale, past the prime of life, slim and upright in
figure (if not in character)
Edward (Ned) Chester - son of Sir John, in love with Emma Haredale
Peak - John Chester’s servant
Stagg - blind man, aide to the Stranger
various ‘Prentice Knights, now the United Bulldogs - Mark Gilbert (a former apprentice), etc.
General Conway – officer who attempts to quell the first riot
Sergeant – with Conway
Dennis – former hangman, now the head jailer of Newgate Prison
Wagon Driver – brings Barnaby and his mother back to London at the time of the riots
Lord Gordon’s Circle:
Mr. Gashford - Gordon’s manipulative secretary
Cast of 14 (7 women, 8 men)
Mrs. Rudge/Bulldog/Narrator
Emma/Cobb/Grip/Narrator
Miggs/Peak/Bulldog/Narrator
Dolly/Bulldog/Narrator
Stagg/Parkes/Bulldog/Narrator
Daisy/Grip/Gashford/Narrator
Mrs.Varden/Dennis/Bulldog/Narrator
Barnaby/Bulldog/Narrator
Sim /Narrator
Edward/Hugh/Narrator
Joe/Bulldog/Narrator
Willet/Conway/Wagon Driver/Narrator
Gabriel Varden/Bulldog/Narrator
Haredale/Stranger/Narrator
Chester/Bulldog/Narrator
Act One, Scene One - March 19, 1780. Winter. Evening. The Maypole.
Willet, Cobb and Parkes sit by the fire.
Narration: One wintry evening, early in the year one thousand seven hundred and eighty, a keen north
wind arises as it grows dark, and night comes on with black and dismal looks. A bitter storm of sleet, sharp,
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 2
dense, and icy–cold, sweeps the wet streets, and rattles on the trembling windows of the Maypole Inn...
Mr. Willet sits in what had been his accustomed place five years before, before the Maypole fireplace. It is
now half–past ten. Mr. Cobb and long Phil Parkes are his companions, as of old.
Willet: If he don’t come in five minutes, I shall have supper without him.
Parkes: To be sure, Solomon is very late...
Cobb: Very late, to be sure...
Parkes: He an’t blown away, I suppose... Do you hear it? There’ll be many a broken branch upon the
ground tomorrow.
Willet: It won’t break anything in the Maypole, sir. Let it try. I give it leave — what’s that?
Parkes: The wind. It’s howling like a Christian, and has been all night long.
Willet: Did you ever, sir, hear the wind say ‘Maypole’?
Parkes: Why, what man ever did?
Willet: Nor ‘ahoy,’ perhaps?
Parkes: No. Nor that neither.
Willet: Very good, sir; then if that was the wind just now, and you’ll wait a little time without speaking,
you’ll hear it say both words very plain. (They listen, and indeed hear this shout repeated, from outside —
from some person in great distress or terror. They look at each other, turn pale, but don’t stir.) If either of
you two gentlemen likes to go out and see what’s the matter, you can. I’m not curious, myself. (A terrified
Solomon Daisy, with a lighted lantern in his hand, and the rain streaming from his disordered dress, dashes
into the room. He stands, panting for breath, gazing on them with such livid ashy looks, that they are
infected with his fear. Willet suddenly seizes him and begins shaking him.) Tell us what’s the matter, sir —
or I’ll kill you. How dare you look like that? Is anybody a–following of you? What do you mean? Say
something, or I’ll be the death of you, I will.
Cobb and Parkes pull Willet off and place Daisy in a chair.
Daisy: Drink... Give me something to drink... And, above all, lock the house-door, without a moment’s loss
of time. (Willet gives him a mug.) Oh, Johnny... Oh, Parkes. Oh, Tommy Cobb. Why did I leave this house
tonight! Of all nights in the year, on the nineteenth of March!
Willet: Why, what the devil do you mean by that?...
Daisy: I have never gone alone into the church after dark on this day, for seven–and–twenty years. I have
heard it said that as we keep our birthdays when we are alive, so the ghosts of dead people, who are not easy
in their graves, keep the day they died upon
Cobb: (in a low voice) Go on...
Daisy: Have I ever said that we are always brought back to this subject in some strange way, when the
nineteenth of this month comes round? (As he tells his story, he steps into the action of it on another part of
the stage, as in Part One, Scene One.) Do you suppose it was by accident, I forgot to wind up the church–
clock? I never forgot it at any other time. I made as much haste down there as I could when I went from
here, but the wind and rain being dead against me all the way, it was pretty well as much as I could do at
times to keep my legs. I got there at last, opened the church–door, went in, and wound up the clock. As I
took up my lantern again to leave the church, I heard a voice outside the tower — rising from among the
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 3
graves.
Cobb: What did it say?
Daisy: It gave a kind of cry, as any one of us might do, if something dreadful followed us in a dream, and
came upon us unawares; and then it died off: seeming to pass quite round the church.
Willet: (drawing a long breath, and looking round him with relief) I don’t see much in that.
Daisy: ...But that’s not all.
Willet: (pausing in the act of wiping his face upon his apron) What more do you mean to say, sir, is to
come?
Daisy: What I saw.
Willet, Parkes, and Cobb: (bending forward) Saw!
Daisy: When I opened the church–door to come out, there crossed me — something in the likeness of a
man. It was bare–headed to the storm. It turned its face without stopping, and fixed its eyes on mine. It was
a ghost — a spirit.
Willet, Parkes, and Cobb: Whose?
In the excess of his emotion (for he falls back trembling in his chair, and waves his hand as if entreating
them to question him no further), Daisy’s answer is lost on all but Willet, who is seated close beside him.
Parkes and Cobb: (looking eagerly at Daisy and Willet) Who! Who was it?
Willet: (after a pause) Gentlemen, you needn’t ask. The likeness of a murdered man. If you’ll take my
advice, we had better, one and all, keep this a secret. Such tales would not be liked at the Warren. Let us
keep it to ourselves, or we may get into trouble, and Solomon may lose his place. Whether it was really as
he says, or whether it wasn’t, is no matter. Right or wrong, nobody would believe him. (eyeing the corners
of the room with unease)
Lights fade.
Act One, Scene Two - The same evening. The Maypole, then the Warren.
Narration: After all had left, old John got his ideas into a focus, and brought them to bear upon Solomon
Daisy’s story. The more he thought of it, the more impressed he became with a sense of his own wisdom,
and a desire that Mr. Haredale should be impressed with it likewise. He determined to repair to the Warren
before going to bed.
Willet: (thoughfully, to himself) He’s my landlord... We haven’t met of late years so often as we used to do
— the whispering about of this here tale will anger him — it’s good to have confidences with a gentleman
of his natur’, and set one’s–self right besides. (yells) Halloa there! Hugh — Hugh. Hal–loa!
Hugh’s Voice: What’s amiss now, that a man can’t even have his sleep in quiet?
Willet: (yelling as he dons his coat and scarf, and finds a lantern) No matter for that. Wrap yourself up in
something or another, for you must go as far as the Warren with me. And look sharp about it.
Hugh: (appearing, yawning and shaking himself as he puts a coat on) You don’t take a man out of doors at
near midnight in such weather, do you, master?
Willet: Yes I do, sir. So hold that light up, if you please, and go on a step or two before, to show the way.
Narrator: At length they stood upon the broad gravel–walk before the Warren–house. The building was
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 4
profoundly dark. From one solitary turret–chamber, however, there shone a ray of light; and towards this
speck of comfort in the cold, cheerless, silent scene, Mr. Willet bade his pilot lead him.
Willet: (looking timidly upward) The old room... Mr. Reuben’s own apartment, God be with us! I wonder
his brother likes to sit there, so late at night — on this night too. Mr. Willet pulls the handle of the bell that
hangs beside the door.
Hugh: (holding the lantern to his breast) Why, where else should he sit? It’s snug enough, an’t it?
Willet: (indignantly) Snug! Do you know what was done in that room, you ruffian?
Hugh: (looking directly at Willet) Why, what is it the worse for that! Is it less warm or dry, because a man
was killed there?
Emma Haredale opens the door, pulling her robe tighter her against the chill --- and Hugh’s leering smile.
Willet: Oh, Miss Haredale… Didn’t mean to wake you, Miss. Your uncle told me once that he keeps odd
hours and I wondered if I might have a word with the gentleman.
Emma: He’s upstairs, Mr. Willet, awake I’m certain --- but he’s been in a low mood all day and perhaps
you should return when --Haredale: (appearing suddenly) Who is it, my dear girl? Why didn’t you let the servants answer?…
Willet: Begging pardon, sir... I knew you sat up late, and made bold to come round, having a word to say to
you. Didn’t mean to rouse your niece.
Haredale: Willet — is it not?
Willet: At your service, sir.
Haredale: Well, what is the matter, man?
Willet: Nothing to speak of, sir... At least not before the young lady here. An idle tale, but I thought you
ought to know of it; nothing more.
Haredale: I’ll hear you upstairs then. (kissing her) Emma, back to bed with you.
Emma: Good night, Uncle. Please, sleep yourself soon. You think of too many dark things on this night.
We must let go of past heartaches.
Haredale: Those we love are not released so easily from our hearts, as I am sure you well know, my dear.
(He caresses her cheek.) Willet, let your man go forward with the lantern, and give me your hand. The stairs
are crooked and narrow. (Emma, troubled by Hugh’s looks, exits.)
Narration: Hugh ascended first. The winding stairs terminated in a little ante–room adjoining that from
which they had seen the light. Mr. Haredale entered, and led the way through it into the latter chamber.
Haredale: (beckoning to Willet) Come in (hastily, to Hugh) Not you, friend! (lowering his voice) Willet,
why do you bring that fellow here?
Willet: (lowering his voice, as well) Why, sir, he’s a good guard, you see.
Haredale: There is no good there, be assured. (louder, to Hugh) Wait in that little room, friend, and close
the door between us.
Narration: When Hugh was shut out, Mr. Willet, in an oily whisper, recited all that he had heard and said
that night. The story moved his auditor much more than he had expected.
Haredale: You did quite right to bid them keep this story secret. It is a foolish fancy on the part of this
weak–brained man, bred in his fears and superstition. But Miss Haredale would be disturbed by it if it
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 5
reached her ears. I thank you very much.
Narration: Mr. Haredale shook hands with him, and opened the door. Hugh, who was, or feigned to be, fast
asleep on the ante–chamber floor, sprang up on their entrance, and throwing his cloak about him, grasped
his stick and lantern, and prepared to descend the stairs.
Haredale: Stay... Will this man drink?
Willet: Drink! He’d drink the Thames up, if it was strong enough, sir. He’ll have something when he gets
home. He’s better without it, now, sir.
Hugh: Nay. What a hard master you are! I shall go home the better for one glassful. Come!
Haredale brings out a glass of liquor, and gives it to Hugh, who, as he takes it in his hand, throws part of it
upon the floor.
Willet: What do you mean by splashing your drink about a gentleman’s house, sir?
Hugh: (holding the glass above his head and fixing his eyes on Haredale) I’m drinking a toast — a toast to
this house and its master.
Narration: And then John saw with wonder that Mr. Haredale was very pale, and that his face had changed
so much and grown so haggard since their entrance, that he almost seemed another man.
Act Two, Scene One – The next afternoon, March 20, 1780. Lord George Gordon’s rooms in London.
Narration: The next afternoon, on March the twentieth, there was a knock on the house door of Lord
George Gordon, Member of Parliament, in Wellbeck Street, London. A rather unorthodox visitor was
shown through the luxurious hallways, until he presently knocked on the office door of Lord Gordon’s
secretary.
(There is a knock on the door. Gordon’s secretary, Gashford says, “Enter” and Hugh walks in the room.
Gashford is angular, high–shouldered, bony, and ungraceful. His dress, in imitation of his superior, is
demure and staid in the extreme; his manner, formal and constrained. His manner is smooth and humble,
but very sly and slinking. He looks patient — very patient — and fawns like a spaniel dog.)
Hugh: Your servant, master. Master Gashford, isn’t it? Secretary to Lord George Gordon?
Gashford: (in his smoothest manner) Correct, friend. What brings you here?
Hugh gives a short laugh, and thrusting his hand into his breast, produces a handbill, soiled and dirty from
lying out of doors all night; he lays it upon the secretary’s desk.
Hugh: Nothing but that, master. Found it wrapped around a stone, on the ground near the Maypole Inn,
Chigwell. It fell into good hands, you see.
Gashford: (turning it over with an air of perfectly natural surprise) What is this! Where did you get it
from, my good fellow?
Hugh: It tells the man that finds it, to come here, don’t it? I’m no scholar, myself, but I showed it to a friend,
and he said it did. (reciting from memory) “To every Protestant into whose hands this shall come”
Gashford: (reading) “Men and Brethren. Whoever shall find this letter, will take it as a warning to join,
without delay, the friends of Lord George Gordon. There are great events at hand; and the times are
dangerous and troubled. Read this carefully, keep it clean, and drop it somewhere else. For King and
Country. Union.” Well, brother?
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 6
Hugh: Now I want to make one against the Catholics, I’m a No–Popery man, and ready to be sworn in.
That’s what I’ve come here for.
Gashford: (after a pause, with his usual mildness) Well, my good fellow, I hereby enroll you as a member
of the Great Protestant Association of England. Would you be so good as to sign this ledger?
Hugh: Cannot, sir. Can neither read nor write.
Gashford: Well, if you would merely make your mark here then... (Hugh does so) And you should know
that the Great Protestant Association seeks to prevent Parliament from abolishing 1) the penal laws against
Roman Catholic priests, 2) the penalty of perpetual imprisonment denounced against those who educated
children in that persuasion, and 3) the disqualification of all members of the Romish church to inherit real
property in the United Kingdom by right of purchase or descent. (conspiratorially) Ah, the air is filled, my
good man, with whispers of a confederacy among the Popish powers to degrade and enslave England,
establish an inquisition in London, and turn the pens of Smithfield market into stakes and cauldrons; such
terrors and alarms have been perpetually broached by our good and wise leader, Lord George Gordon.
Thus, when one joins the Great Protestant Association, the G.P.A., one joins in the defense of religion, life,
and liberty.
Hugh: Then I do hereby swear to join in —
Gashford: Very good, very good; well, then, our business being settled, you must forgive me... No
Popery!
Hugh: Aye, No Popery!
Gashford: For King and Country!
Hugh: (on his way out) For ‘em both, aye!
Gashford: And bless Lord Gordon!
Hugh: (as he exits) Aye, that too! Bless his lordship! No Popery!
Narration: As he was self-righteously thirsty by this time, Hugh thought he should repair to The Boot
Tavern, where he knew there was good Protestant company --- and strong liquor. He bent his steps that way
with no loss of time.
Act Two, Scene Two - The Boot Tavern.
Narration: And once there, Hugh repeatedly drank in a loud voice to --Hugh: --- The health of Lord George Gordon, President of the Great Protestant Association.
Narration: The Boot also contained a small detachment of United Bulldogs, led by our old acquaintance,
Mr. Simon Tappertit. He was attended by his lieutenant, a ‘Prentice Knight in days of yore — Mark
Gilbert. This gentleman and the other Bulldogs, like himself, were now emancipated from their apprentice
thraldom, and aspired to a distinguished state in great political events. Hence their connection with the
G.P.A.; and hence their present visit to The Boot.
Simon: (taking off his hat as a great general might in addressing his troops) Gentlemen! Well met. My lord
Gordon does me and you the honor to send his compliments per self.
Hugh: You’ve seen my lord too, have you? I been there myself this afternoon. (with a drunken flourish of
his arm) I hate the Papists, every one of ‘em. They hate me and I hate them. They do me all the harm they
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 7
can, and I’ll do them all the harm I can. Hurrah!
Simon: I say, haven’t I seen you before?
Hugh: I don’t know; shouldn’t wonder.
Simon: Did you ever see ME before? You wouldn’t be likely to forget it, you know, if you ever did.
(proudly showing his fine calves) Look at me. (almost thrusting a leg in Hugh’s face) Don’t be afraid; I
won’t do you any harm. (Hugh laughs.) Come! Do you know me, feller?
Hugh: Not I... Ha ha ha! Not I! But I should like to.
Simon: I’d have wagered that you once were hostler at the Maypole. (Hugh reacts in surprise, and Sim
pushes him away with a condescending playfulness) Don’t you know me now?
Hugh: (pushing rather roughly back) Why it an’t—
Simon: (playfully punching at this shoulder) You remember G. Varden, locksmith, don’t you? You
remember coming down there to the Golden Key, our shop, before I was out of my time, to ask after that
vagabond Joe Willet that had bolted off, and left his disconsolate father — don’t you?
Hugh: Of course I do! And I saw you there. (punching Sim --- a bit too hard --- back)
Simon: Don’t you remember my thinking you liked the villain; and then finding you detested him worse
than poison, going to drink with you? Don’t you remember that? (pushes again, a bit rough himself)
Hugh: To be sure! (abruptly pushes him, knocking Sim to the ground)
Simon: (painfully rising) You speak like a man, and I’ll shake hands with you. (he does so) You never
heard anything more of that rascal, I suppose, eh?
Hugh: Not a syllable... I don’t believe I ever shall. He’s dead long ago, I hope.
Simon: (wiping off the hand used to shake with Hugh) It’s to be hoped, for the sake of mankind in general
and the happiness of society, that he is. Is your other hand at all cleaner? Much the same. Well, I’ll owe you
another shake. We’ll suppose it done, if you’ve no objection. (This induces another of Hugh’s laughing fits,
which Simon tentatively joins.)
Hugh: Make anything you like of me! Put me on any duty you please. I’m your man. I’ll do it. Here’s my
captain — here’s my leader. Ha ha ha! Let him give me the word of command, and I’ll fight the whole
Parliament House single–handed, or set a lighted torch to the King’s Throne itself! (He smacks poor Simon
violently on the back.) Oh, I quite forgot, Captain --- I have somebody to see tonight... Our renewed
acquaintance and the drinking put it out of my head.
Simon: Well, then... If your engagement is one of a pressing nature, I give you my permission to depart
immediately.
Hugh: (laughing) Good night, captain! I am yours to the death, remember!
Simon: (waving) Farewell! Be bold and vigilant!
Hugh: No Popery, captain!
Simon: England in blood first! (Hugh cheers, laughs, and runs off like a greyhound.) That man will prove a
credit to my corps... And when the locksmith’s child, dear Dolly, is mine, Miggs must be got rid of
somehow, or she’ll poison the tea–kettle one evening when I’m out. He might marry Miggs, if he was drunk
enough. It shall be done. I’ll make a note of it.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 8
Act Two, Scene Three -Sir John Chester’s chambers. That same night.
John, in his dressing–gown and slippers, opens the door.
Narration: Though it was very late, indeed, when Hugh found his way to the lodgings of Sir John Chester,
and later still when he’d convinced the sleepy and suspicious porter that he was expected, he found himself
standing in the esteemed gentleman’s doorway that same evening.
Chester: Aha! (raising his eyebrows) It’s you, messenger, is it? Come in
Sir John beckons his late visitor into the dressing–room, and sits in his easy–chair before the fire, so that he
can see Hugh as he stands, hat in hand.
Narration: Yes, he was now Sir John. But how? Nothing so simple, or so easy. One touch with a sword of
state, and the transformation was effected. John Chester, Esquire, attended court. Such elegance of manner,
so many graces of deportment, such powers of conversation, could never pass unnoticed. Mr. was too
common for such merit. A man so gentlemanly should have been — born a Duke. He caught the fancy of
the king, knelt down a grub, and rose a butterfly. John Chester, Esquire, was knighted and became Sir John.
And an M.P. --- member of Parliament.
Chester: I thought when you left me this afternoon, my esteemed acquaintance, that you intended to return
with all dispatch?
Hugh: So I did, master.
Chester: And so you have? (glancing at his watch) Is that what you would say?
Instead of replying, Hugh shuffles his cap from one hand to the other, looks at the ground, the wall, the
ceiling, and finally at Sir John himself; before whose pleasant face he lowers his eyes again, and fixes them
on the floor.
Chester: (lazily crossing his legs) What harm have you been doing?
Hugh: (growling with humility) No harm at all, master... I have only done as you ordered.
Chester: As I WHAT?
Hugh: (uneasily) Well then, as you advised, or said I ought, or said I might, or said that you would do, if
you was me.
Chester: (paring his nails) When you say I ordered you, my good fellow, you imply that I directed you to
do something for me — something for my own ends and purposes — you see? Now I am sure I needn’t
enlarge upon the extreme absurdity of such an idea. (turning his eyes full upon Hugh) Instead of wondering
why you have been so long, my wonder should be why you came at all
Hugh: You know, master, that I couldn’t read the bill I found, and that supposing it to be something
particular, I brought it here.
Chester: And could you ask no one else to read it, Bruin?
Hugh: No one that I could trust with secrets, master. Since Barnaby Rudge was lost sight of for good and all
— five years ago — I haven’t talked with anyone but you. I have come to and fro, master, all through that
time, because I wished to please you if I could, and not to have you go against me. There. That’s the true
reason why I came tonight.
Chester: (fixing his eye upon Hugh) Didn’t you give me in this room, earlier today, any other reason; no
dislike of anybody who has slighted you lately, on all occasions, abused you; acted towards you, more as if
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 9
you were a mongrel dog than a man like himself?
Hugh: (his passion rising) To be sure I did! I’d do anything to have some revenge on him --- Haredale —
anything. And when you told me that he and all the Catholics would suffer from those who joined together
under that handbill, I said I’d make one of ‘em. I AM one of ‘em. You shall see, and so shall he, how my
spirit backs me when the time comes. My bark is nothing to my bite.
The knight looks at him with a smile; and pointing to the decanter, follows him with his eyes while he fills
and drinks a glass of liquor; and smiles when his back is turned, with deeper meaning yet.
Chester: (with an air of most profound indifference) Oh! You have joined those fellows then?
Hugh: Yes. I went up to the house you told me of; and got put down upon the muster.
Chester: There — get you gone. (holding the door open in his hand) You have made a pretty evening’s
work. You’ll have an opportunity of revenging yourself on your proud friend Haredale, and for that, you’d
hazard anything, I suppose?
Hugh: I would — but what do I risk! Friends, home? I have none. Let me pay off old scores in a bold riot
where there are men to stand by me; and then — it don’t matter much to me what the end is!
Hugh nods, and touching his cap with an air of as much respect as he can summon up, departs. Sir John sits
down once again before the fire, at which he gazes in earnest meditation.
Chester: (breaking into a smile) I fear, I DO fear exceedingly, that my friend is following fast in the
footsteps of his hanged mother. But it’s no business of mine.
He takes a pinch of snuff as the lights fade.
Act Three, Scene One - The Golden Key.
Gabriel Varden is clothed in military gear. On a bench lie a cap and feather, broadsword, sash, and coat of
scarlet; the uniform of a sergeant in the Royal East London Volunteers. The locksmith glances at these
articles with a laughing eye, with his head a little on one side
Gabriel: Time was, now, I remember, when I was like to run mad with the desire to wear a coat of that
color.
Mrs. Varden: (entering) Ah! A man at your time of life, Varden, should know better now.
Gabriel: (turning round with a smile) Why, what a ridiculous woman you are, Martha...
Mrs. Varden: (with great demureness) Certainly... Of course I am. I know that, Varden. Thank you.
Gabriel: I mean —
Mrs. Varden: Yes — I know what you mean. You speak quite plain enough to be understood, Varden.
Gabriel: Tut, tut, Martha. I mean, how strange it is of you to run down volunteering, when it’s done to
defend you and all the other women, and our own fireside and everybody else’s, in case of need.
Mrs. Varden: (shaking her head) It’s unchristian!
Gabriel: Unchristian! Why, what the devil—
Mrs. Varden: (looking heavenward, with a sigh) Yes, please do, Varden — go on, by all means blaspheme
as much as possible; you know how I like it...
Gabriel: (after being tempted to do so) I was going to say, what on earth do you call it unchristian for?
Which would be most unchristian, Martha — to sit quietly down and let our houses be sacked by a foreign
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 10
army, or to turn out like men and drive ‘em off? Shouldn’t I be a nice sort of a Christian, if I crept into a
corner of my own chimney and looked on while a parcel of whiskered savages bore off Dolly — or you?
Mrs. Varden: (despite herself, relaxing into a smile) In such a state of things as that, indeed—
Dolly, runs in, throws her arms round her old father’s neck and hugs him tight.
Gabriel: Here she is at last! And how well you look, Doll, and how late you are, my darling!
Dolly: How glad I always am to be at home again!
Gabriel: (putting her hair back from her eyes) And how glad we always are, Doll, to have you at home.
(She kisses him.) I don’t like your being at the Warren... I can’t bear to have you out of my sight. And what
is the news over yonder, Doll?
Dolly: Come, come... You know very well. I want you to tell me why Mr. Haredale — oh, how gruff he is
again, to be sure! — has been away from home for some days past, traveling about without telling his own
niece why or wherefore.
Gabriel: Miss Emma doesn’t want to know, I’ll swear.
Dolly: Why is he so secret, and what is this ghost story, which nobody is to tell Miss Emma, and which
seems to be mixed up with his going away?
Gabriel: I know no more than you, my dear. As to Mr. Haredale’s journey, he goes, as I believe —
Dolly: Yes...
Gabriel: (pinching her cheek) As I believe, on business, Doll. What it may be, is quite another matter. Read
Blue Beard, and don’t be too curious, pet.
Mrs. Varden: It would be much more to the purpose if Dolly read Lord George Gordon’s speeches, which
would be a greater comfort to her...
Miggs: (entering) Indeed, I’ld recommend all those whose hearts are hardened to hear Lord George
themselves --- his steady Protestantism, his oratory, his eyes, his nose, his legs, and lastly his figure genrly
--- as fit for any statue, prince, or angel.
Mrs. Varden: (picking up a box from the mantelshelf, an imitation of a red–brick house, with a yellow
roof; having a chimney, down which she drops a coin, meaningfully; and on the house a sign reads
“G.P.A.”) It is to me a source of poignant misery to think that you, Varden, never have, dropped anything
into this temple of the G.P.A. And you, Dolly, I am grieved to say, are better loving to purchase ribbons
and such gauds, than to encourage the great cause. I entreat you (since your father I fear cannot be moved)
to imitate the bright example of Miggs, who flings her wages, as it were, into the very countenance of the
Pope, and bruises his features with her quarter’s money.
Miggs: Oh, mim, don’t relude to that. I had no intentions, mim, that nobody should know. (with a great
burst of tears) It’s all I have, but it’s made up to me in other ways; it’s well made up.
Mrs. Varden: (herself in tears) You needn’t cry, Miggs. You needn’t be ashamed of it, though your poor
mistress IS on the same side.
Miggs: (howling at this remark, in a peculiarly dismal way) I know that master hates me. If it’s master’s
wishes as I and him should part, it’s best we should part. It will be a hard trial to part from such a missis, but,
as I’m hated and looked upon unpleasant, perhaps my dying as soon as possible will be the best endings for
all parties. (With this, she sobs abundantly.)
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 11
Mrs. Varden: (in a solemn voice) Can you bear this, Varden?
Gabriel: Why, not very well, my dear, but I try to keep my temper. (Miggs sobs) What are you crying for,
girl? I don’t hate you; I don’t hate anybody. Dry your eyes and make yourself agreeable, in Heaven’s name.
(to Dolly) I never wear this dress, but I think of poor Joe Willet. Run off to be a soldier. I loved Joe; he was
always a favorite of mine.
Dolly laughs — not like herself at all — the strangest little laugh that could be — and holds her head down
lower still.
Gabriel: (muttering to himself) Poor Joe! Ah! old John made a great mistake in his way of acting by that lad
— a great mistake.
Mrs. Varden: (frowning) Never mind young Willet, Varden; you might find some one more deserving to
talk about, I think. (Miggs gives a great sniff to the same effect.) Even Mr. Edward Chester, who likewise
ran off from his gracious, now knighted father, did so as a loyal member of the Protestant church.
Dolly: Aye, and broke dear Emma Haredale’s heart, (at her mother) Catholic though it may be.
Gabriel: Nay, Dolly, don’t let us bear too hard upon Mr. Edward. Or upon poor young Joe, Martha. If
the lad is dead indeed, we’ll deal kindly by his memory.
Mrs. Varden: A runaway and a vagabond!
Miss Miggs sniffs again.
Gabriel: (in a gentle tone) A runaway, my dear, but not a vagabond. He behaved himself well, did Joe —
always — and was a handsome, manly fellow. Not a man of nobility, like Edward Chester, perhaps, but…
Mrs. Varden coughs—and so does Miggs.
Gabriel: (smiling and stroking his chin) Joe tried hard to gain your good opinion, Martha, I can tell you... It
seems but yesterday that he followed me out to the Maypole door one night, and begged me not to say how
like a boy they used him — say here, at home, he meant, though at the time, I recollect, I didn’t understand.
“And how’s Miss Dolly, sir?,” says Joe... Ah! Poor Joe!
Miggs: Why, if here an’t Miss Dolly a–giving way to floods of tears. Oh mim! oh sir. (Dolly exits hurriedly,
followed by Miggs.)
Gabriel: Is Dolly ill? Have I done anything? Is it my fault?
Mrs. Varden: (reproachfully) Your fault!
Gabriel: What have I done?
Mrs. Varden: (exiting after Miggs and Dolly) Oh! I have no patience with you...
The unfortunate locksmith winds his sash about him, girds on his sword, puts on his cap, and walks out.
Gabriel: (under his breath) Every man came into the world for something; my department seems to be to
make every woman cry without meaning it!
Act Three, Scene Two - En route to the deserted Rudge house.
Narration: The Royal East London Volunteers made a brilliant sight that day: formed into lines, squares,
circles, triangles, and what not, to the beating of drums, and the streaming of flags; in all of which Sergeant
Varden bore a conspicuous share. Having displayed their military prowess, they regaled in the adjacent
taverns until dark. It was nine o’clock when the locksmith reached home.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 12
A cloaked gentleman is waiting near his door; and as Gabriel passes, Mr. Geoffrey Haredale calls him by
his name.
Gabriel: The sight of you is good for sore eyes, sir. I wish you had walked in though, rather than waited
here.
Haredale: There is nobody at home, I find; besides, I desired to be as private as I could.
Gabriel: (muttering and looking round at his house) Humph! Gone with Simon Tappertit to that precious
Protestant Association Branch, no doubt. Have you just come back to town, sir?
Haredale: But half an hour ago.
Gabriel: Bringing no news of Barnaby, or his mother? Ah! I feared that. You exhausted all reasonable
means of discovery when they went away. To begin again after so long a time has passed is hopeless, sir.
Haredale: (impatiently) Varden, my good fellow, I have a deeper meaning in my present anxiety to find
them out, than you can fathom. It is not a mere whim; but an earnest, solemn purpose. I have no rest; no
peace or quiet; I am haunted. Since the night of the storm --- the last nineteenth of March. (hastily
continuing) You know Mrs Rudge’s house has been shut up, by my orders, since she went away. I am on my
way there now.
Gabriel: For what purpose?
Haredale: To pass the coming nights there. This is a secret which I trust to you in case of any unexpected
emergency. Emma, your daughter, and the rest, suppose me out of London. Do not undeceive them. I rely
upon your questioning me no more at this time.
Narration: The locksmith saw for the first time how haggard, pale, and changed he looked; how worn and
thin he was; how perfectly his whole appearance coincided with all that he had said so strangely.
Gabriel: But that house is such a dull place, sir --- may no one share your watch?
Narration: He shook his head, and so plainly evinced his wish to be alone, that Gabriel could say no more.
The two men parted, Gabriel entering his house and Mr. Haredale continuing to the vacant Rudge home.
For several weeks, at twilight, Mr. Haredale shut himself up there, and at daybreak he came forth. He never
missed a night, always came and went alone, and never varied his proceedings in the least degree. At dusk,
he entered the house, kindled a light, went through the rooms, and narrowly examined them. That done, he
returned to the chamber on the ground–floor, and laying his sword and pistols on the table, sat by it until
morning. The slightest noise without doors, caught his ear; a step upon the pavement seemed to make his
heart leap. It was not with the start of fear but hope, and catching up his sword, he would listen with eager
looks, until it died away. This went on for weeks; he had taken a lodging elsewhere in which to pass the
day and rest himself. But one night, when he had resumed his solitary watch in the deserted home and sat
by the table, his sword and pistol close at hand...
There is the sound of steps outside the door. Haredale douses the lantern and hides against the wall by the
entrance. The door creaks open and a form is silhouetted in the doorway. Once the Stranger steps inside
the room, Haredale hits him across the head with his pistol and stands over the prostate figure.
Haredale: Villain! Solomon Daisy’s wandering ghost. Dead and buried, as all men supposed through
your infernal arts, but reserved by Heaven for this — at last — at last I have you. You, whose hands are red
with my brother’s blood, and that of his faithful servant — his gardener, shed to conceal your own atrocious
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 13
guilt — You, Rudge, double murderer and monster, I arrest you in the name of God, who has delivered you
into my hands. No. Though you had the strength of twenty men (atop him, as the murderer writhes and
struggles), you could not escape me or loosen my grasp tonight!
Act Four, Scene One – Evening. A small English country town. The home of Mrs. Rudge and Barnaby.
Narration: In a small English country town, concealed under an assumed name, and living in a quiet
poverty dwelt Barnaby and his mother. To labor in peace, and devote her life to her poor son, was all the
widow sought. For Barnaby himself, the time which had flown by, had passed him like the wind. The daily
suns of years had shed no brighter gleam of reason on his mind; no dawn had broken on his long, dark night.
Their hut stood on the outskirts of the town, at a short distance from the high road, but in a secluded place,
where few chance passengers strayed at any season of the year. One summer’s night in June, they were in
their little garden, resting from the labors of the day. Barnaby’s raven Grip hunted unwary grasshoppers.
The widow’s work is yet upon her knee, and strewn upon the ground about her; and Barnaby stands leaning
on his spade, gazing at the brightness in the west, and singing softly to himself. Grip pokes at the ground,
muttering his old phrases.
Barnaby: A brave evening, mother! If we had, chinking in our pockets, but a few specks of that gold which
is piled up yonder in the sky, we should be rich for life.
Mrs. Rudge: (with a quiet smile) We are better as we are.
Barnaby: (resting with crossed arms on his spade) Ay! but gold’s a good thing to have, mother. I wish that
I knew where to find it. Grip and I could do much with gold, be sure of that.
Mrs. Rudge: What would you do?
Barnaby: What! A world of things. We’d dress finely — you and I, I mean; not Grip — keep horses, dogs,
wear bright colors and feathers, live delicately and at our ease. Oh, we’d find uses for it, mother!
Mrs. Rudge: (rising from her seat and laying her hand on his shoulder) You do not know what men have
done to win it, and how they have found, too late, that it glitters brightest at a distance, and turns quite dim
and dull when handled.
Barnaby: Ay, ay; so you say; so you think... For all that, mother, I should like to try.
Mrs. Rudge: Nothing bears so many stains of blood, as gold. Avoid it. None have such cause to hate its
name as we have. Do not so much as think of it, dear love.
A blind man, with dusty feet and garments, suddenly stands, bare–headed, behind the hedge that divides
their patch of garden from the pathway, and leans meekly forward. Grip seems to dislike him.
Stagg: A blessing on those voices! I feel the beauty of the night more keenly, when I hear them. They are
like eyes to me. Will they speak again, and cheer the heart of a poor traveler?
Mrs. Rudge: Have you traveled far? And with no guide?
Stagg: (shaking his head) A weary way and long... Be pleased to let me have a draught of water, lady.
Mrs. Rudge: Why do you call me lady? I am as poor as you.
Stagg: Your speech is soft and gentle, and I judge by that.
Barnaby: Come round this way... Put your hand in mine. You’re blind and always in the dark, eh? Are you
frightened in the dark? Do you see great crowds of faces, now? Do they grin and chatter?
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 14
Stagg: Alas! I see nothing. Waking or sleeping, nothing. (Barnaby looks at Stagg’s eyes, touches them with
his fingers, and leads him towards their door.)
Mrs. Rudge: How have you found your way so far?
Stagg: Use and necessity are good teachers... (sitting down upon the chair and putting his hat and stick
down) May neither you nor your son ever learn under them. They are rough masters.
Mrs. Rudge: (with pity) You have wandered from the road, too.
Stagg: (with a sigh and yet something of a smile) Maybe, maybe... That’s likely. Handposts and milestones
are dumb, indeed, to me. Thank you the more for this rest, and this refreshing drink! (He merely wets his
lips and puts it down again. Then he takes out a few pence and speaks in Barnaby’s direction.) Might I
make bold to ask that one who has the gift of sight, would lay this out for me in bread to keep me on my
way? Heaven’s blessing on the young feet that will bestir themselves in aid of one so helpless as a sightless
man! (Barnaby looks at his mother, who nods assent; he leaves to buy bread in the nearby village. The blind
man listens with an attentive face, until he’s sure Barnaby is gone, and then speaks suddenly in a very
altered tone.) There are various degrees and kinds of blindness, widow. There is that physical blindness,
ma’am, of which I am a most illustrious example. And there is, ma’am, a blindness of the intellect, of which
we have a specimen in your interesting son, and which, having sometimes glimmerings and dawnings of the
light, is scarcely to be trusted as a total darkness… (He draws from beneath his coat a flat stone bottle, and
holding the cork between his teeth, flavors his mug of water with liquor. He drains it with infinite relish.)
Madam, my name is Stagg. (corking his bottle) A friend of mine who has desired the honor of meeting with
you any time these five years past, has commissioned me to call upon you. I should be glad to whisper that
gentleman’s name in your ear
Mrs. Rudge: (with a stifled groan) You need not repeat it. I see too well from whom you come. What do
you want?
Stagg: We are poor, widow, we are poor. (stretching out his right hand, and rubbing his thumb upon its
palm)
Mrs. Rudge: Poor! And what am I?
Stagg: Comparisons are odious... I don’t know, I don’t care. I say that we are poor. My friend’s
circumstances are indifferent, and so are mine. We must have our rights, widow, or we must be bought off.
Mrs. Rudge: Is he near here?
Stagg: He is. Close at hand.
Mrs. Rudge: Then I am lost!
Stagg: (calmly) Not lost, widow — only found. (starting to rise) Shall I call him?
Mrs. Rudge: (with a shudder) Not for the world.
Stagg: (settling again and crossing his legs) As you please, widow. But both he and I must live; to live, we
must eat and drink; to eat and drink, we must have money.
Mrs. Rudge: Do you know how pinched and destitute I am? If you had eyes, and could look around you on
this poor place, you would have pity on me. Oh! let your heart be softened by your own affliction, friend,
and have some sympathy with mine.
Stagg: (snapping his fingers) If you are very poor now, it’s your own choice. You have friends who are
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 15
always ready to help you. My friend is in a more destitute and desolate situation than most men, and, you
and he being linked together in a common cause, he naturally looks to you to assist him. He has boarded and
lodged with me a long time. You have always had a roof over your head; he has always been an outcast.
You have your son to comfort and assist you; he has nobody at all. (Mrs. Rudge starts to speak, but he
continues.) He bears you no malice, ma’am: so little, that although you have treated him harshly more than
once, I believe even if you disappointed him now, he would consent to take charge of your son, and to make
a man of him. (He pauses for effect, as she weeps. Then he continues, thoughtfully.) He is a likely lad, for
many purposes, and not ill–disposed to try his fortune in a little change and bustle, if I may judge from what
I heard of his talk with you tonight. — Come. In a word, my friend has pressing necessity for twenty
pounds. You, who can give up an annuity, can get that sum for him. (She starts to speak again, and he again
stops her.) Don’t say anything hastily; you might be sorry for it. Think of it a little while. Twenty pounds —
of other people’s money — how easy!
Barnaby now returns with the bread.
Stagg: Ah, my lad, sit down and drink — for I carry some comfort, you see. Taste that. (Barnaby drinks and
coughs.) Is it good? (Barnaby nods.) You don’t taste anything like that, often, eh?
Barnaby: (drinking and coughing) Often! — Never!
Stagg: (sighing) Too poor? Ay. That’s bad. Your mother, poor soul, would be happier if she was richer,
Barnaby.
Barnaby: (drawing his chair nearer to him, and looking eagerly in his face) Why, so I tell her—the very
thing I told her just before you came tonight, when all that gold was in the sky... Tell me. Is there any way of
being rich, that I could find out?
Stagg: Any way! A hundred ways.
Barnaby: Ay, ay? What are they? — Nay, mother, it’s for your sake I ask; not mine; — for yours, indeed.
What are they?
Stagg: (turning his face, with a smile of triumph, to Mrs. Rudge) Why, they are not to be found out by stay–
at–homes, my good friend.
Barnaby: (plucking at his sleeve) By stay–at–homes! But I am not one. Now, there you mistake. I am often
out before the sun, and travel home when he has gone to rest. As I walk along, I try to find, among the grass
and moss, some of that small money for which she works so hard and used to shed so many tears. As I lie
asleep in the shade, I dream of it — dream of digging it up in heaps; and spying it out, hidden under bushes.
But I never find it. Tell me where it is. I’d go there, if the journey were a whole year long, because I know
she would be happier when I came home and brought some with me.
The blind man passes his hand lightly over Barnaby’s face, pauses for a minute as though he desired the
widow to observe this fully, and then answers --Stagg: It’s in the world, bold Barnaby; not in solitary places like those you pass your time in, but in crowds,
and where there’s noise and rattle.
Barnaby: (rubbing his hands) Yes! I love that. Grip loves it too. It suits us both. That’s brave!
Stagg: —The kind of places that a young fellow likes, and in which a good son may do more for his mother,
and himself to boot, in a month, than he could here in all his life — that is, if he had a friend, you know, and
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 16
someone to advise with.
Barnaby: You hear this, mother? (turning to her with delight)
Stagg: Have you no answer, widow? (after a slight pause) Is your mind not made up yet?
Mrs. Rudge: Let me speak with you apart.
Stagg: (rising from the table) Courage, bold Barnaby. We’ll talk more of this: I’ve a fancy for you. Wait
there till I come back.
She leads him aside.
Mrs. Rudge: You are a fit agent, and well represent the man who sent you here.
Stagg: I’ll tell him that you said so... We must have our rights, widow.
Mrs. Rudge: Rights! Do you know that a word from me—
Stagg: (calmly, after a long pause) Why do you stop? Do I know that a word from you would place my
friend in the last position of the dance of life? Yes, I do. What of that? It will never be spoken, widow.
Mrs. Rudge: You are sure of that?
Stagg: Quite. I say we must have our rights, or we must be bought off. Keep to that point, or let me return to
my young friend
She jingles coins in her hand.
Mrs. Rudge: First answer me one question... You say he is close at hand. Has he left London?
Stagg: Being close at hand, widow, it would seem he has.
Mrs. Rudge: I mean, for good? You know that.
Stagg: Yes, for good. The truth is, widow, that his making a longer stay there might have had disagreeable
consequences. He has come away for that reason.
Mrs. Rudge: Listen (telling some money out, upon a bench beside them) Count.
Stagg: (listening attentively) Six. Any more?
Mrs. Rudge: They are the savings of five years. Six guineas.
He puts out his hand for one of the coins; feels it carefully, puts it between his teeth, rings it on the bench;
and nods to her to proceed.
Mrs. Rudge: These have been scraped together and laid by, lest sickness or death should separate my son
and me. They have been purchased at the price of much hunger, hard labor, and want of rest. If you CAN
take them — do — on condition that you leave this place upon the instant.
Stagg: (shaking his head) Six guineas fall very far short of twenty pounds, widow.
Mrs. Rudge: For such a sum, as you know, I must write to a distant part of the country. To do that, and
receive an answer, I must have time. A week. Return on this day week, at the same hour.
Stagg: (after some consideration) Humph! On this day week at sunset. And think of your son. — For the
present, good night.
He exits, as she returns to Barnaby.
Barnaby: Mother! What is the matter? Where is the blind man?
Mrs. Rudge: Gone.
Barnaby: (starting up) Gone! Which way did he take?
Mrs. Rudge: (folding her arms about him) I don’t know. You must not go out to–night. There are ghosts
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 17
and dreams abroad.
Barnaby: (in a frightened whisper) Ay?
Mrs. Rudge: It is not safe to stir. We must leave this place tomorrow.
Barnaby: This place! This cottage—and the little garden, mother!
Mrs. Rudge: Yes! Tomorrow morning at sunrise. We must travel to London; lose ourselves in that wide
place — there would be some trace of us in any other town — then travel on again, and find some new
abode.
Act Four, Scene Two - Westminster Hall, the Houses of Parliament.
Narration: One evening, shortly before twilight, Mr. Haredale came his accustomed road upon the river’s
bank, intending to pass through Westminster Hall. There was a pretty large concourse of people assembled
round the Houses of Parliament. As he made his way among the throng, he heard once or twice the No–
Popery cry, which was then becoming pretty familiar to the ears of most men. Mr. Haredale had nearly
traversed the Hall, when two persons before him caught his attention.
(A gentleman in elegant attire; the other, an obsequious, crouching, fawning figure.)
Chester: Haredale! Gad bless me, this is strange indeed!
Haredale: (impatiently) It is, yes—a—
Chester: My dear friend, (detaining him) why such great speed? One minute, Haredale, for the sake of old
acquaintance.
Haredale: I am in haste Good night!
Chester: Fie, fie! how very churlish! We were speaking of you. — You know our friend here, Haredale?
This is really a most remarkable meeting!
(Gashford is plainly very ill at ease, and presses Sir John’s arm, to give him a hint that he’s desirous of
avoiding this introduction. As Mr. Haredale turns his eyes upon him, Gashford puts out his hand in an
awkward and embarrassed manner, which is not mended by its contemptuous rejection.)
Haredale: (coldly) Mr. Gashford! It is as I have heard then. You have left the darkness for the light, sir, and
hate those whose opinions you formerly held, we Catholics, with all the bitterness of a renegade. You are an
honor, sir, to any cause. I wish the one you espouse at present, much joy of the acquisition it has made.
(The secretary rubs his hands and bows, as though he would disarm his adversary by humbling himself
before him.)
Chester: (taking a pinch of snuff with his usual self-possession) Now, really, this is a most remarkable
meeting!
Gashford: Mr. Haredale, is too conscientious, too honorable, I am sure, to attach unworthy motives to an
honest change of opinions, even though it implies a doubt of those he holds himself. Mr. Haredale is too
just, too generous, too clear–sighted in his moral vision, to —
Haredale: (with a sarcastic smile) Yes, sir? You were saying —
Gashford meekly shrugs his shoulders, and looking on the ground again, is silent.
Chester: Haredale, my dear friend, here we stand, three old schoolfellows, in Westminster Hall; three old
boarders in a seminary at Saint Omer’s, where you, being Catholics and of necessity educated out of
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 18
England, were brought up; and where I, being a promising young Protestant at that time, was sent to learn
the French tongue!
Haredale: Add to the singularity, Sir John, that some of you Protestants of promise are at this moment
leagued in yonder building, to prevent our having the surpassing and unheard–of privilege of teaching our
children to read and write—here—in this land, where thousands of us enter your military service every
year, and to preserve the freedom of which, we die in bloody battles abroad, in heaps: and that others of you,
to the number of some thousands as I learn, are led on to look on all men of my creed as wolves and beasts
of prey, by this man Gashford.
Chester: (with an engaging smile) Oh! You are really very hard upon our friend!
Gashford: (fumbling with his gloves) Let him go on, Sir John. I am honored with your good opinion, and I
can dispense with Mr. Haredale’s. Mr. Haredale is a sufferer from the penal laws, and I can’t expect his
favor.
Haredale: (with a bitter glance at Chester) You have so much of my favor, sir, that I am glad to see you in
such good company. You are the essence of your great Association, in yourselves.
Chester: Now, there you mistake. I don’t belong to the body; I have an immense respect for its members,
but I don’t belong to it.
Haredale: I ask your pardon, Sir John, for having ranked you among the humble instruments who are
obvious and in all men’s sight. Men of your capacity plot in secrecy and safety, and leave exposed posts to
the duller wits.
Chester: (sweetly) Don’t apologize, for the world... Old friends like you and I, may be allowed some
freedoms.
Haredale: Is it not enough, Sir John, that I, as good a gentleman as you, must hold my property, such as it
is, by a trick at which the state connives because of these hard laws; and that we may not teach our youth in
schools the common principles of right and wrong; but must we be denounced and ridden by such men as
this! Here is a man to head your No–Popery cry! For shame. For shame!
Gashford: (in a loud voice and waving his hand in a disturbed and agitated manner) I cannot talk to you,
sir; we have nothing in common.
Haredale: For shame, for shame! We have much in common — all that the Almighty gave us... And
common charity, not to say common sense and common decency, should teach you to refrain from these
proceedings.
Chester: Oh, really — you are very, very hard upon our friend!
Narration: They had walked on a few paces while speaking, and were now at the Hall–door. Mr. Haredale,
without any leave–taking, turned away. But the throng of people came pouring out pell–mell. At first some
indistinct mutterings arose among them, which were followed by a hiss or two. Then one voice said --One Voice: Down with the Papists!
Narration: --- and there was a pretty general cheer. One man cried out --Another Voice: Stone him!
Narration: And another, in a stentorian voice --Stentorian Voice (Hugh): No Popery!
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 19
Narration: This favorite cry the rest re–echoed, and the mob, which might have been two hundred strong,
joined in a general shout.
Mr. Haredale looks round contemptuously, and walks at a slow pace away. Gashford, as if without
intention, turns about, and directly afterwards a great stone is thrown by some hand, in the crowd. It strikes
Haredale on the head. He staggers, the blood flowing freely from the wound. He turns directly, and rushes
up with a boldness and passion which makes them all fall back.
Haredale: Who did that? Show me the man who hit me.
No one moves.
Haredale: Who did that? Show me the man who did it. Dog, was it you? It was your deed, if not your hand
— I know you.
He throws himself on Gashford and hurls him to the ground. There is a sudden motion in the crowd, and
some lay hands upon him, but his sword comes out, and they fall off again.
Haredale: Draw, dog — Sir John --- draw, one of you — you are responsible for this outrage, and I look to
you. Draw, if you are gentlemen.
He strikes Sir John upon the breast with the flat of his weapon, and with a burning face and flashing eyes
stands upon his guard; alone, before them all. For an instant, there is an evil change in Sir John’s smooth
face. But the next moment he steps forward, and lays one hand on Mr. Haredale’s arm, while with the other
he endeavors to appease the crowd.
Chester: My dear friend, my good Haredale, you are blinded with passion — it’s very natural, extremely
natural — but you don’t know friends from foes.
Haredale: (almost mad with rage) I know them all, sir, I can distinguish well — Sir John, Gashford — do
you hear me? Are you cowards?
One-Armed Man: (forcing his way between and pushing Haredale towards the stairs) Never mind, sir —
never mind asking that. For God’s sake, get away. What CAN you do against this number? And there are as
many more in the next street, who’ll be round directly — you’d be giddy from that cut, in the first heat of a
scuffle. Now do retire, sir, or take my word for it you’ll be worse used. Come, sir, make haste — as quick as
you can.
Narration: Mr. Haredale, who began to turn faint and sick, felt how sensible this advice was, and
descended the steps with his unknown friend’s assistance. The one-armed man helped him into the boat,
and giving her a shove off, which sent her thirty feet into the tide, and bade the waterman pull away like a
Briton.
The crowd separates and departs. Gashford, bruised by his fall, and hurt in a much greater degree by the
indignity he has undergone, limps up and down, breathing curses and threats of vengeance. Hugh comes
through the departing crowd, with another rock in hand.
Hugh: (in evident surprise) Master Gashford! Why, who’d have thought of this here honor! What’s in the
wind now, Master Gashford? Any orders from head–quarters?
Gashford: (with a friendly nod) Oh, nothing, nothing... We have broken the ice, though. We had a little
spurt to–day—eh?
Hugh: (growling) A very little one... Not half enough for me.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 20
Gashford: Brave fellow! By the bye — who threw that stone?
Hugh stands in silence.
Gashford: It was well done! I should like to know that man. (laughing) You saw how I fell when I was set
upon. I made no resistance. I did nothing to provoke an outbreak.
Hugh: (with a noisy laugh) No, by the Lord Harry! — You went down very quiet, Master Gashford — and
very flat besides. He’s a rough ‘un to play with, is that ‘ere Papist, and that’s the fact.
Gashford: (with an unpleasant expression, waits until Hugh finishes laughing) I — or, rather, my lord
Gordon consigns to you the pleasant task of punishing this Haredale. You may do as you please with him, or
his, provided that you show no mercy, and no quarter, and leave no two beams of his house standing where
the builder placed them. You may sack it, burn it, do with it as you like, but it must come down; it must be
razed to the ground; and he, and all belonging to him, left as shelterless as new–born infants whom their
mothers have exposed. Do you understand me? (pressing his hands together gently)
Hugh: Understand you, master! You speak plain now. Why, this is hearty!
Gashford: (shaking him by the hand) I knew you would like it. Good night! (Exits.)
Hugh: This looks a little more like business!
Act Five, Scene One - On the road to London.
Narration: The following dawn, as the sun shed his earliest beams upon the earth, Mary and Barnaby
Rudge closed the door of their deserted home, and turned away. Their stock of money was low, but from the
hoard she had told into the blind man’s hand, the widow had withheld one guinea. This, with the few pence
she possessed besides, was to two persons of their frugal habits, a goodly sum in bank. They were soon
sitting in a wagon which was to take them within ten miles of the capital --Barnaby: Mother, we’re going to London first, you said. Shall we see that blind man there?
Mrs. Rudge: No, I think not; why do you ask?
Barnaby: (thoughtfully) He’s a wise man. What was it that he said of crowds? That gold was to be found
where people crowded, and not among the trees and in such quiet places? London is a crowded place; I
think we shall meet him there.
Mrs. Rudge: But why do you desire to see him, love?
Barnaby: (looking wistfully at her) Because, he talked to me about gold, and say what you will, a thing you
would like to have, I know.
Narration: The driver was punctual, the road good and in the forenoon of Friday the second of June, one
thousand seven hundred and eighty, the wagon stopped at the foot of Westminster Bridge, in London.
(Barnaby and Mrs. Rudge get out of the wagon, collecting their belongings — which include Grip in his
basket.) They were bewildered by the crowd of people who were already astir, and soon became aware that
the stream of life was all pouring one way, and that a vast throng of persons were crossing the river from the
Middlesex to the Surrey shore, in unusual haste and evident excitement. They were surprised to see that
nearly every man in this great concourse wore in his hat a blue cockade.
Mrs. Rudge: (speaking to the wagon driver) Good sir, what is this meaning of all these people?
Driver: Why, haven’t you heard of Lord George Gordon’s Great Protestant Association, ma’m? This is the
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 21
day that he presents the petition against the Catholics, God bless him!
Mrs. Rudge: What have all these men to do with that?
Driver: His lordship has declared he won’t present it to the house at all, unless it is attended to the door by
forty thousand good and true men at least? There’s a crowd for you!
Barnaby: A crowd indeed! Do you hear that, mother!
Driver: Ah! Let Lord George alone. He knows his power. There’ll be a good many faces inside the House
of Commons, that’ll turn pale when good Lord George gets up this afternoon, and with reason too! Ay, ay.
Let his lordship alone. HE knows!
With much mumbling and chuckling and shaking of his forefinger, he drives off.
Barnaby: Mother! That’s a brave crowd he talks of. Come!
Mrs. Rudge: Not to join it!
Barnaby: (plucking at her sleeve) Yes, yes... Why not? Come!
Mrs. Rudge: You don’t know what mischief they may do, where they may lead you, what their meaning is.
Dear Barnaby, for my sake—
Barnaby: (patting her hand) For your sake! Well! It IS for your sake, mother. You remember what the
blind man said, about the gold. Here’s a brave crowd! Come!
Gashford passes, sees Barnaby, and stops.
Gashford: Young man! Why do you not wear this ornament today? (holding out a blue cockade)
Mrs. Rudge: In Heaven’s name, no. Pray do not give it him!
Gashford: (coldly) Speak for yourself, woman Leave the young man to his choice; he’s old enough to
make it, and to snap your apron–strings. He knows, without your telling, whether he’ll wear the sign of a
loyal Englishman or not.
Barnaby: Yes! yes, yes, I will!
Gashford: (throwing him a cockade) Make haste to St George’s Fields.
Barnaby eagerly fixes the bauble in his hat.
Barnaby: I am going, sir. (finishing his task, and putting his hat on with an air of pride) I shall be there
directly.
Gashford: Didn’t you know that the hour for assembling was ten o’clock? (Barnaby shakes his head and
looks vacantly from one to the other.)
Mrs. Rudge: He cannot tell you, sir... We are but this morning come from a long distance in the country --Gashford: Ah, the cause has taken a deep root, and has spread its branches far and wide... I thank Heaven
for it!
Barnaby: (with a solemn face) Amen!
Mrs. Rudge: You do not understand me, sir. We know nothing of these matters. We have no desire or right
to join in what you are about to do. This is my son, my poor afflicted son, dearer to me than my own life. In
mercy’s name, my lord, go your way alone, and do not tempt him into danger!
Gashford: My good woman, how can you! — Dear me! — What do you mean by tempting, and by danger?
God bless me!
Mrs. Rudge: (laying her hands on Gashford’s breast) No, no, good sir, forgive me, but hear my earnest,
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 22
mother’s prayer, and leave my son with me. He is not in his right senses, he is not, indeed!
Gashford: (evading her touch) It is a bad sign of the wickedness of these times that those who cling to the
truth and support the right cause, are set down as mad. Have you the heart to say this of your own son,
unnatural mother! (with a meek severity) I am astonished at you! This is a very sad picture of female
depravity. With regard to this young man, my good woman (with a slightly curled lip, as he looks at
Barnaby, who stands twirling his hat, and stealthily beckoning him to come away), he is as sensible and
self–possessed as any one I ever saw. (to Barnaby) And you desire to make one of this great body? And
intended to make one, did you?
Barnaby: Yes — yes... To be sure I did! I told her so myself.
Gordon: I see. (with a reproachful glance at the unhappy mother) I thought so. Follow me and you shall
have your wish.
Narration: They passed quickly through the Bridge Road, where the shops were all shut up , and presently
arrived before St George’s Fields. Here an immense multitude was collected, bearing flags of various kinds
and sizes, but all of the same color — blue, like the cockades. Then they burst into a tremendous shout, into
another, and another; and the air seemed rent and shaken, as if by the discharge of cannon.
Gashford: It is a proud sight. It is a noble day for England, and for the great cause throughout the world.
And now we shall find a place in some division for this new recruit.
Hugh steps with a shout of laughter from the rank, and smites Barnaby on the shoulders with his heavy
hand.
Hugh: How now! Barnaby Rudge! Why, where have you been hiding for these hundred years?
Barnaby: What! Hugh!
Hugh: Hugh! Ay, Hugh—Maypole Hugh! What, you wear the color, do you? Well done! Ha ha ha!
Gashford: You know this young man, I see.
Hugh: Know him, my lord! as well as I know my own right hand. My captain knows him. We all know
him.
Gashford: Will you take him into your division? I must proceed to Westminster, to seek the glorious
news of Lord Gordon’s petition.
Hugh: Fall in, Barnaby. He shall march, master Gashford, with me; and he shall carry the gayest silken
streamer in this valiant army. (Giving a flag to Barnaby, as Gashford exits.)
Mrs. Rudge: (shrieking and darting forward) In the name of God, no! Barnaby—good sir—see—he’ll
come back—Barnaby—Barnaby!
Hugh: (stepping between them and holding her off) Women in the field! Holloa! My captain there!
Simon: (bustling up in a great heat) What’s the matter here? Do you call this order?
Hugh: (holding Mrs. Rudge back) Nothing like it, captain... It’s against all orders. Ladies are carrying off
our gallant soldiers from their duty. The word of command, captain! They’re filing off the ground. Quick!
Simon: (with the whole power of his lungs) Close! Form! March!
Narration: She was thrown to the ground; the whole field was in motion; Barnaby was whirled away into
the heart of a dense mass of men, and she saw him no more.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 23
Act Five, Scene Two - That same day. The mob moves through London.
Simon: (looking up at the windows thronged with spectators) What do you think of this? They have all
turned out to see our flags and streamers? Eh, Barnaby?
Hugh: Why, Barnaby’s the greatest man of all the pack! His flag’s the largest of the lot, the brightest too.
There’s nothing in the show like Barnaby. All eyes are turned on him. Ha ha ha!
Barnaby looks vacantly to Hugh.
Hugh: Here, I’ll explain... Barnaby old boy, attend to me.
Barnaby: (looking anxiously round) I wish I could see her somewhere. She would be proud indeed to see
me now, eh, Hugh? Wouldn’t it make her glad to see me at the head of this large show? She’d cry for joy, I
know she would. Where CAN she be?
Hugh: You’re talking of your mother. Lookee, bold lad. If she’s not here to see, it’s because I’ve sent half–
a–dozen gentlemen to take her, in state, to a grand house all hung round with gold and silver banners, where
she’ll wait till you come, and want for nothing.
Barnaby: (beaming with delight) Ay! Have you indeed? That’s fine! Kind Hugh!
Simon: (with a wink to Hugh) But nothing to what will come, bless you.
Barnaby: No, indeed?
Simon: All the fine things there are, ever were, or will be; will belong to us if we are true to that noble
gentleman, Lord Gordon
Hugh: The best man in the world — and, Barnaby, we only have to carry our flags for a few days, and keep
‘em safe. That’s all we’ve got to do.
Barnaby: (with glistening eyes, clutching his pole tighter) Is that all? I warrant you I keep this one safe,
then. You have put it in good hands. You know me, Hugh.
Hugh: Well said! Ha ha! Nobly said! That’s the old stout Barnaby, that I have climbed and leaped with,
many and many a day.
Narration: It was between two and three o’clock in the afternoon when crowds met at Westminster. The
noise and uproar were on the increase every moment. The mob raged and roared, like a mad monster — as
it was — unceasingly.
Grip: (in Barnaby’s basket) I’m a devil, I’m a Polly, I’m a kettle, I’m a Protestant, No Popery!
Barnaby: Well said, Grip! (patting the basket) Well said, old boy! Stay inside there, where it’s safe.
Grip: Never say die, bow wow wow, keep up your spirits, Grip Grip Grip, Holloa! We’ll all have tea, I’m a
Protestant kettle, No Popery!
Barnaby: Gordon forever, Grip!
Hugh: Order! (as Gashford appears) News! News from my lord!
The crowd noise continues, until Gashford looks round. Then there is silence immediately.
Gashford: (agitated) Gentlemen, we must be firm. They talk of delays, but we must have no delays. They
talk of taking your petition into consideration next Tuesday, but we must have it considered now. Present
appearances look bad for our success, but we must succeed and will!
Crowd: We must succeed and will! (There is another gesture from Gashford, and a dead silence directly.)
Gashford: I am afraid that we have little reason, gentlemen, to hope for any redress from the proceedings
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 24
of Parliament. But the alarm has gone forth for many miles round; and when the King hears of our
assemblage here, I’ve doubt, His Majesty will send down private orders to have our wishes complied with;
and —
Two officers suddenly appear, and push past Gashford to confront the crowd.
General Conway: (loud, but cool and collected) You may tell these people, if you please, sir, that I am
General Conway; and that I oppose this petition, and all their proceedings, and yours. The armed soldiers
you see behind me and I will protect the freedom of this place with sword, bayonets, and rifles. You see,
citizens, that the members of this House are all in arms today, as well — and surrounded by the military and
militia Have a care what you do. If a man among this crowd, whose uproar strikes us deaf, crosses the
threshold of the House of Commons, I swear to run my sword that moment straight into his body! All face
arrest, under the Riot Act, unless you disperse at once.
The crowd falters. Gashford makes a sign to Hugh and Simon. Sim worriedly steps back from the front of
the throng.
Hugh: (roaring to the crowd) What now! Why go back? Where can you do better than here, boys! One
good rush against ‘em will do the business. Rush on, then! Let those stand back who are afraid. Let those
who are not afraid, try who shall be the first to pass that there public doorway.
Barnaby rushes forward, waving his flag and shouting hurrahs. Conway and the Sergeant exchange
confused glances, then the Sergeant moves to take the flag from Barnaby. Barnaby struggles and knocks
him down. Hugh grabs the Sergeant’s fallen sword and stabs Conway. As the stunned crowd sees
Conway fall to his knees, Hugh drops the sword and starts to pull Barnaby away. But Barnaby falls as
Conway orders his men to fire. Hugh and Simon flee through the screaming mob, some of whom are
struck by the loud volley from the “offstage” soldiers. Barnaby, bewildered, rises slowly, only to be
clubbed by the Sergeant. As the scene changes, he and the basketed Grip are taken offstage.
Act Five, Scene Three - The Boot Tavern
Narration: Hugh raced to the Boot Tavern and safety, but had not been there many minutes, when several
groups of men who had formed part of the crowd, came straggling in. Among them was Simon Tappertit.
Simon: (drinking ale) Don’t you consider this a good beginning, friend?
Hugh: Give me security that it an’t a ending When that soldier went down, we might have made London
ours; but no; our people throws up the game with the winning cards in their hands, and skulks away like a
pack of tame curs as they are. Ah, (in a tone of deep disgust) it makes me blush for my feller creeturs. I wish
I had been born a ox, I do!
Simon: (in a lofty manner) You’d have been quite as agreeable a character if you had been, I think.
Hugh: Don’t be too sure of that
Gashford and Chester enter.
Gashford: Oh! you ARE here then? Dear me! The streets are filled with blue cockades. I rather thought you
might have been among them. I am glad you are not.
Simon: Master Gashford, we belong to the cause, don’t we?
Gashford: The cause! There is no cause. The cause is lost.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 25
Hugh: Lost!
Chester: Oh yes. You have heard, I suppose? The petition is rejected by a hundred and ninety–two, to six.
It’s quite final.
Gashford: We might have spared ourselves some trouble. That, and my lord’s vexation, are the only
circumstances I regret. I am quite satisfied in all other respects. (He takes a penknife from his pocket, and
putting his hat upon his knee, begins to busy himself in ripping off the blue cockade.)
Simon: Master Gashford, why do you meddle with that riband in your hat?
Gashford: (looking up with something between a snarl and a smile) Because --- because to sit still and
wear it, or to fall asleep and wear it, is a mockery. That’s all, friend.
Hugh: What would you have us do, master!
Gashford: (shrugging) Nothing --- nothing. When my lord was reproached and threatened for standing by
you, I, as a prudent man, would have had you do nothing. When the soldiers were shooting your compatriots
and trampling them under their horses’ feet, I would have had you do nothing. When one of them was struck
down by a daring hand, and I saw confusion and dismay in all their faces, I would have had you do nothing
— just what you did, in short.
Chester: That young man who had so little prudence and so much boldness — Barnaby Rudge, I believe,
though I wasn’t present at the sordid affair... Ah! I am sorry for him.
Hugh: Sorry, master!
Chester: Oh, you didn’t hear perhaps... He was duly arrested — and faces hanging for his defiance of the
Riot Act.
Gashford: Yet if there should be a proclamation out tomorrow, offering five hundred pounds, or some such
trifle, for the apprehension of the other man, who assisted his assault on General Conway (coldly) Still, I
would have you do nothing.
Hugh: (starting up) Fire and fury, master! What have we done, that you should talk to us like this!
Chester: (sneering) Nothing. If , my centaur, you are cast into prison; if the young man has been dragged
from you and from his friends; perhaps from people whom he loves, and whom his death would kill; is
thrown into jail, brought out and hanged before their eyes; still, do nothing.
Gashford: You’ll find it your best policy, I have no doubt.
Hugh: (striding towards the door) Come on! Captain—come on!
Gashford: (blocking his way) Where? To do what?
Hugh: Anywhere! Anything! Stand aside, master!
Chester: (suddenly with the utmost good fellowship) Ha ha ha! You are of such—of such an impetuous
nature. You are such an excitable creature— but you’ll drink before you go? Some liquor here!
Gashford: (filling their mugs) I hear — but I cannot say whether it be true or false — that the men who are
loitering in the streets tonight are half disposed to pull down a Romish chapel or two, and that they only
want leaders.
Hugh: No jails and halters for Barnaby and me. They must be frightened out of that. Leaders are wanted,
are they? Now boys! Let us start at Warwick Street; there’s a chapel to be looted there! (He charges out,
followed by the Bulldogs and, lastly, Simon.)
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 26
Gashford: Well! I think this looks a little more like business!
Chester looks impatiently at Gashford and exits.
Act Five, Scene Four - Newgate Prison.
Narration: Mr. Haredale’s delivered prisoner, left to himself in Newgate Prison, sat down upon his
bedstead: and resting his elbows on his knees, and his chin upon his hands, remained in that attitude for
hours. After a long time the door of his cell opened.
Stagg: This is bad, Rudge. This is bad.
The prisoner shuffles his feet upon the ground in turning his body from him, but makes no other answer.
Stagg: How were you taken? And where?
Rudge: At my wife’s old house in London. Where I thought to hide. Yet I was taken by the very man I
thought to hide from. By Haredale. I heard the Bell as he struck me down.
He shivers; paces quickly up and down the narrow cell; and sits down again, in his old posture.
Stagg: (after a pause) You heard a Bell—
Rudge: No, I heard the Bell… Let it be, will you? It hangs there yet
Stagg: You might have thrown him down, or stabbed him.
Rudge: Might I? Between that man and me, was one who led him on — I saw it, though he did not — and
raised above his head a bloody hand. HE and I stood glaring at each other on the night of the murder, and
before he fell he raised his hand like that, and fixed his eyes on me.
Stagg: (with a smile) You have a strong fancy...
Rudge: Strengthen yours with blood, and see what it will come to. (He groans, and rocks himself, and
looking up for the first time, speaks, in a low, hollow voice) Eight–and–twenty years! He has never
changed in all that time, never grown older, nor altered in the least degree. He has been before me in the
twilight, the moonlight, the sunlight, the light of fire, and lamp, and candle; and in the deepest gloom.
Always the same! Fancy! Do I fancy that I killed him? Do I fancy that as I left the chamber where he lay, I
saw the face of a man peeping from a dark door, who plainly showed me by his fearful looks that he
suspected what I had done? Do I remember that I spoke fairly to him — that I drew nearer — nearer yet —
with the hot knife in my sleeve? Do I fancy how HE died? Did he stagger back into the angle of the wall into
which I had hemmed him, and, bleeding inwardly, stand, not fall, a corpse before me? Did I see him, for an
instant, as I see you now, erect and on his feet — but dead! It was then I thought, for the first time, of
fastening the murder upon him. It was then I dressed him in my clothes, and dragged him down the back–
stairs to the piece of water. Do I remember listening to the bubbles that came rising up when I had rolled
him in? Did I go home when I had done? And oh, my God! Did I stand before my wife, and tell her? Did I
see her fall upon the ground? Is THAT fancy? Did she go down upon her knees, and call on Heaven to
witness that she and her unborn child renounced me from that hour; and did she warn me to fly while there
was time; for though she would be silent, being my wretched wife, she would not shelter me? Did I go forth
that night, abjured of God and man, and anchored deep in hell, to wander at my cable’s length about the
earth, and surely be drawn down at last?
Stagg: Why did you return?
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 27
Rudge: Why is blood red? I could no more help it, than I could live without breath. Nothing could stop me.
Why did I come back? Because this jail was gaping for me, and he stood beckoning at the door.
Stagg: You were not known?
Rudge: I was a man who had been twenty–two years dead. No. I was not known.
Stagg: You should have kept your secret better.
Rudge: MY secret? MINE? It was a secret, any breath of air could whisper at its will. The stars had it in
their twinkling, the water in its flowing, the leaves in their rustling, the seasons in their return. It lurked in
strangers’ faces, and their voices. Everything had lips on which it always trembled. — MY secret!
Stagg: It was revealed by your own act at any rate... Your return to that graveyard, on that night…
Rudge: The act was not mine. I did it, but it was not mine. As truly as the loadstone draws iron towards it,
so he, lying at the bottom of his grave, could draw me near him when he would. Was that fancy? Did I like
to go there, or did I strive and wrestle with the power that forced me?
The blind man shrugs his shoulders, and smiles incredulously.
Stagg: I suppose then that you are penitent and resigned; that you desire to make peace with everybody (in
particular, with your wife who has brought you to this); and that you ask no greater favor than to be carried
to Tyburn and hung as soon as possible?
Rudge: (fiercely) What?! Has my whole life, for eight–and–twenty years, been one perpetual struggle and
resistance, and do you think I want to lie down and die?
Stagg: That’s better said. That’s better spoken, Rudge — but I’ll not call you that again — than anything
you have said yet Lookye — I am only anxious that you shouldn’t die unnecessarily. Your worthy lady
with the tender conscience; your scrupulous, virtuous, punctilious, but not blindly affectionate wife —
Rudge: What of her?
Stagg: Is now in London.
Rudge: A curse upon her, be she where she may!
Stagg: Aye, if she had taken her annuity as usual, you would not have been here, and we should have been
better off. But she’s here, in the city. Scared, no doubt, by my representation when I waited upon her, that
you were close at hand (which I, of course, urged only as an inducement to compliance), she left that place,
and came here.
Rudge: How do you know?
Stagg: From my friend the noble captain — the illustrious general — the bladder, Mr. Tappertit. I learnt
from him the last time I saw him, which was yesterday, that your son who is called Barnaby had been lured
away from her by one of his companions who knew him of old, at Chigwell; and that he is now arrested, for
attacking a soldier.
Rudge: And what is that to me? If father and son be hanged together, what comfort shall I find in that?
Stagg: (with a cunning look) Suppose I track my lady out, and say thus much: “Madam, a person said to
be your husband is in prison — the charge against him, murder. Now, ma’am, your husband has been dead
a long, long time. If you will have the goodness to say a few words, on oath, as to when he died, and how;
and that this person is no more he than I am, such testimony will set the question quite at rest. Pledge to give
it, ma’ am, and I will undertake to help your son (a fine lad) out of harm’s way. I know the truth about those
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 28
who dragged him into the riot that day, their names and whereabouts. On the other hand, if you decline to do
so, I fear the law will assuredly sentence him to suffer death. If you refuse, he swings.”
Rudge: There is a gleam of hope in this!
Stagg: A gleam!... A noon–blaze; a full and glorious daylight. Hush! I hear the tread of distant feet. Rely
on me.
Rudge: When shall I hear more?
Stagg: As soon as I do. I should hope, tomorrow. They are coming to say that our time for talk is over. I
hear the jingling of the keys. Not another word of this just now, or they may overhear us.
The head jailer, Dennis, appears at the door.
Dennis: It’s time for visitors to leave the jail.
Stagg: (meekly) So soon! But it can’t be helped. Cheer up, friend. This mistake will soon be set at rest, and
then you are a man again! If this charitable gentleman will lead a blind man to the prison–porch, and set him
with his face towards the west, he will do a worthy deed. Thank you, good sir. I thank you very kindly.
Dennis escorts Stagg out of the cell. The iron door clangs shut behind them. Rudge drops to his knees,
seemingly fearful of the very air around him.
Act Five, Scene Five - The Golden Key.
Narration: The clock was on the stroke of one, when Gabriel Varden, with his lady and Miss Miggs, sat
waiting in the little parlor, above the Golden Key.
(Miss Miggs, having arrived at that restless state and sensitive condition of the nervous system which are
the result of long watching, constantly rubs and tweaks her nose, perpetually changes position, incessantly
emits small coughs, groans, gasps, sighs, sniffs... At last, Gabriel erupts.)
Varden: Miggs, my good girl, go to bed — do go to bed. You’re really worse than the scratching of a
hundred mice behind the wainscot. I can’t bear it.
Miggs: You haven’t got nothing to untie, sir, and therefore your requests does not surprise me. But missis
has — and while you sit up, mim, I couldn’t go to bed with a quiet spirit.
The clock strikes two, and there is a sound at the street door, as if somebody has fallen against the knocker
by accident. Miss Miggs immediately jumps up and claps her hands.
Miggs: Ally Looyer, mim! there’s Simmuns’s knock!
Sim enters. Disheveled, weak from heat and fatigue; begrimed with mud and dust, he stalks haughtily into
the parlor, and throws himself into a chair, and surveys the household with a gloomy dignity.
Gabriel: (gravely) Simon, how comes it that you return home at this time of night, and in this condition?
Give me an assurance that you have not been among the rioters, and I am satisfied. You have been drinking.
Simon: (with great self-possession) As a general principle, and in the most offensive sense of the words,
sir, I consider you a liar. In that last observation you have unintentionally, sir, struck upon the truth.
Gabriel: (with a sorrowful shake of his head, but still smiling at Sim) Martha, I trust it may turn out that this
poor lad is not the victim of the knaves and fools we have so often had words about, and who have done so
much harm today. If he has been at Warwick Street or Duke Street tonight —
Simon: (loudly) He has been at neither, sir --- (then in a whisper, his eyes fixed on Gabriel) he has been at
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 29
neither.
Gabriel: (in a serious tone) I am glad of it, with all my heart --- for if he had been, and it could be proved
against him, Martha, your Great Association would have been to him the cart that draws men to the gallows
and leaves them hanging in the air.
Mrs. Varden is scared by Simon’s altered manner and appearance. Miss Miggs wrings her hands, and
weeps.
Simon: (sternly) He was not at Duke Street, or at Warwick Street, G. Varden, but he WAS at Westminster.
Perhaps, sir, he kicked a county member, perhaps, sir, he tapped a lord — you may stare, sir, I repeat it —
blood flowed from noses, and perhaps he tapped a lord. Who knows? This, (putting his hand into his
waistcoat–pocket, and taking out a large tooth) this was a bishop’s. Beware, G. Varden!
Miggs and Mrs. Varden scream at the sight of the tooth.
Gabriel: (hastily) You idiot, do you know what peril you stand in?
Simon: I know it, sir --- and it is my glory. I was there, everybody saw me there. I was conspicuous, and
prominent. I will abide the consequences.
Gabriel: (with agitation) Get to bed, and sleep for a couple of hours that you may wake penitent, and with
some of your senses about you. Be sorry for what you have done, and we will try to save you. (to Mrs.
Varden) He has lived in this house, man and boy, for a dozen years, and I should be sorry if for this one
day’s work he made a miserable end. Lock the front–door, Miggs, and show no light towards the street
when you go upstairs. Quick, Simon! Get to bed!
Simon: (with thick, slow speech) And do you suppose, sir, that I am base and mean enough to accept your
servile proposition? — Miscreant!
Gabriel: Whatever you please, Sim, but get to bed. Every minute is of consequence. The light here, Miggs!
Miggs and Mrs. Varden: Yes, yes, oh do! Go to bed directly!
Simon: (swaying on his feet) You spoke of Miggs, sir — Miggs may be smothered!
Miggs: (in a faint voice) Oh Simmun!
Simon: This family may ALL be smothered, sir, excepting Mrs V. I have come here, sir, for her sake, this
night. Mrs Varden, take this piece of paper. It’s a protection, ma’am. You may need it.
He holds out a dirty, crumpled scrap of writing.
Gabriel: (snatching and reading it) ”All good friends to our cause, I hope will be particular, and do no
injury to the property of any true Protestant. I am well assured that the proprietor of this house is a staunch
and worthy friend to the cause. GEORGE GORDON.” What’s this?!
Simon: Something that’ll do you good service, young feller, as you’ll find. Keep that safe, and where you
can lay your hand upon it in an instant. And chalk ”No Popery” on your door tomorrow night, that’s all.
Gabriel: This is a genuine document I know, for I have seen the hand before. What threat does it imply?
What devil is abroad?
Simon: A fiery devil --- a flaming, furious devil. Don’t you put yourself in its way, or you’re done for, my
buck. Be warned in time, G. Varden. Farewell!
The two women throw themselves in his way — especially Miss Miggs, who pins him against the wall.
Simon: I tell you that my mind is made up. My bleeding country calls me and I go! Miggs, if you don’t get
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 30
out of the way, I’ll pinch you. (Miggs clings to him and screams, as he struggles to free himself) Release
me! Let me go! I have made arrangements for you in an altered state of society, and mean to provide for you
comfortably in life—there! Will that satisfy you?
Miggs: Oh Simmun! Oh my blessed Simmun! Oh mim! What are my feelings at this conflicting moment!
Gabriel: (in the doorway) Do you hear me? Go to bed!
Simon: I hear you, and defy you, Varden! Let me pass!
Gabriel: I’ll knock you down if you come near the door
Simon rushes for the door and they grapple while the women scream. Then Simon pretends to fall
backwards and when Gabriel goes to help him, rushes out the door.
Gabriel: (out of breath from the struggle) Go thy ways, Sim I have done my best for thee, poor lad, and
would have saved thee, but the rope is round thy neck, I fear.
Mrs. Varden now hides under her chair the little red–brick dwelling–house with the yellow roof. Gabriel
catches her movement and extends a hand for it. Mrs. Varden produces it, with many tears.
Mrs. Varden: Gabriel, if I could have known —
Gabriel: Yes, yes, of course — I know that. I don’t mean to reproach you, my dear. But recollect from this
time that all good things perverted to evil purposes, are worse than those which are naturally bad. Let us say
no more about it, my dear.
He drops the red–brick dwelling–house on the floor, and crushes it into pieces. The halfpence, and
sixpences, and other voluntary contributions, roll about in all directions, but nobody offers to touch them,
or to take them up.
Gabriel: That is easily disposed of, and I would to Heaven that everything growing out of the same society
could be settled as easily.
Mrs. Varden: It happens very fortunately, Varden, (with her handkerchief to her eyes) that in case any
more disturbances should happen, we have the piece of paper which that poor misguided young man
brought.
Gabriel: Ay, to be sure Where is that piece of paper?
Mrs. Varden offers it to him; he tears it into fragments, and throws away.
Mrs. Varden: Not use it?
Gabriel: Use it! No! Let them come and pull the roof about our ears; let them burn us out of house and
home. Use it! Let them come and do their worst. The first man who crosses my doorstep on such an errand
as theirs, had better be a hundred miles away. Get you to bed, Martha. I shall take down the shutters and go
to work.
Mrs. Varden: So early!
Gabriel: (cheerily) Ay --- so early. They shall not find us skulking and hiding, as if we feared to take our
portion of the light of day, and left it all to them. So pleasant dreams to you, my dear, and cheerful sleep!
He gives his wife a hearty kiss. Mrs. Varden quite amiably and meekly walks upstairs, followed by Miggs.
Act Six, Scene One - Sunday. At the Boot.
Narration: Within a few hours, but long after sunrise of the new day, Hugh arose with a loud yawn, at what
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 31
had become the headquarters of the Bulldog company of the G.P.A. --- the Boot Tavern, in it’s rather
remote and isolated vicinity of the town proper.
Hugh: (with a loud yawn, he rises from a heap of straw on which he has been sleeping, and supporting his
head upon his hand) I’m as stiff as a dead body, and as full of ugly scratches as if I had been fighting all day
yesterday with wild cats. (Indeed, Hugh has an uncombed head, matted beard, and torn hands and face.)
For the matter of that, there’s one yonder as good as me... Our noble captain, come in before dawn and
rather the worse for liquor.
Simon Tappertit lies coiled upon a truss of hay, snoring profoundly. Gashford enters.
Hugh: Good day, master! Is this better? You’ve heard of our doings, the burnings and plunderings of the
chapels last night. Some Papist heads were cracked. Is this more to your liking?
Gashford: No It is not.
Hugh: What would you have? We cannot kill ‘em all at once...
Gashford: I would have you put some meaning into your work. Fools! Can you make no better bonfires
than of rags and scraps? Can you burn nothing whole?
Hugh: A little patience, master. Wait but a few hours, and you shall see. Look for a redness in the sky,
tonight, down Chigwell way...
Gashford: You know the news, then? Yes, I supposed you would have heard it.
Hugh: News! what news?
Gashford: You don’t? (raising his eyebrows) Dear me! Come; then I AM the first to make you acquainted
with your distinguished position, after all. Do you see the King’s Arms a–top?
He takes a large paper from his pocket, unfolds it, and holds it out for Hugh’s inspection.
Hugh: (impatiently) I told you, the first time I saw you, that I couldn’t read
Gashford: It is a proclamation from the King in Council, offering a reward of five hundred pounds to any
one who will discover the person or persons most active in demolishing those chapels...
Hugh: (with an indifferent air) Is that all? I knew of that.
Gashford: (smiling, and folding up the document) Your aristocratic friend, I might have guessed— indeed
I did guess—was sure to tell you.
Hugh: My friend! (with an unsuccessful effort to appear surprised) What friend?
Gashford: Tut tut—do you suppose I don’t know where you have been? (rubbing his hands, and beating
the back of one on the palm of the other, and looking at him with a cunning eye) How dull you think me!
Shall I say his titled name?
Hugh: No.
Gashford: You have also heard from him, no doubt that the rioters who have been taken (poor fellows) are
committed for trial, and that some very active witnesses have had the temerity to appear against them.
Among others — (clenching his teeth, as if he would suppress by force some violent words that rose upon
his tongue) Among others, a gentleman who saw the work going on in Warwick Street; a Catholic
gentleman; one Haredale.
Hugh: Now, master, quick! What you have to say, say speedily, for the little captain may sleep yonder, but
a cluster of his Bullydog boys are in the fields, and only waiting for us. Sharp’s the word, and strike’s the
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 32
action. Quick! It’s time we were going; we’ll make an early start of it.
Gashford: Brisk as ever!
Hugh: Who knows better than you, master, that the first great step to be taken is to make examples of these
witnesses, and frighten all men from appearing against us or any of our body, anymore?
Gashford: (with an expressive smile) There’s one we know of, who is at least as well informed upon that
subject as you or I.
Hugh: (softly) If we mean the same gentleman, as I suppose we do I tell you this — he’s as good and
quick information about everything as — (pauses and looks round, then doing a passable imitation of John
Chester) as Old Nick himself.
Gashford: (rising) I say — you didn’t find that your friend disapproved of today’s little expedition? Ha ha
ha! It is fortunate it jumps so well with the witness policy; for, once planned, it must have be carried out.
And now you are going, eh?
Hugh: Any parting words?
Gashford: (laying a hand upon the arm of Hugh, said, in a cramped whisper) Do not, my good friend — I
am sure you will not — forget our talk one night — about this person. No mercy, no quarter, no two beams
of his house to be left standing where the builder placed them! Fire, the saying goes, is a good servant, but a
bad master. Makes it HIS master; he deserves no better. But I am sure you will be firm, I am sure you will be
very resolute, I am sure you will remember that he thirsts for your lives, and those of all your brave and
slow-witted companions. If you ever acted like a staunch fellow, you will do so today. Won’t you, Hugh?
Hugh looks at him; then bursting into a roar of laughter, brandishes his staff above his head, picks up the
groggy Sim, throws him over his shoulder and hurries out. Gashford playfully salutes him as he leaves.
Act Six, Scene Two - The Maypole Inn. Willet and his cronies sit before the fire.
Narration: That same night, John Willet was arguing with his three cronies at the Maypole Inn. Gone
(and secretly much missed) were the evenings when old John was able to vent his argumentative nature on
his son, Joe. For Joe had joined the king’s army, to fight in the American war, five years ago. And not
been heard from since.
Willet: (looking hard at Daisy) Do you think, sir --- do you think, sir, that I’m a born fool?
Daisy: No, no, Johnny We all know better than that. You’re no fool, Johnny. No, no!
Cobb and Parkes: (shaking their heads and muttering) No, no, Johnny, not you!
Willet: Then what do you mean by coming here, and telling me that this evening you’re a–going to ride up
to London together and have the evidence of your own senses? (putting his pipe in his mouth with an air of
solemn disgust) An’t the evidence of MY senses enough for you?
Parkes: (humbly pleading) But we haven’t got it, Johnny.
Willet: You haven’t got it, sir? (eyeing him from top to toe) Don’t I tell you that His blessed Majesty King
George the Third would no more stand a rioting and rollicking in his streets, than he’d stand being crowed
over by his own Parliament?
Parkes: Yes, Johnny, but that’s your sense — not your senses
Willet: (with great dignity) You’re a contradicting pretty free, you are, sir. (Parkes looks thoroughly and
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 33
effectually put down.) Do you suppose if all this was true, that Mr. Haredale would be constantly away from
home, as he is? Do you think he wouldn’t be afraid to leave his house with them two young women, Miss
Emma and Varden’s daughter, in it?
Daisy: But his house, the Warren, is a goodish way out of London, and they do say that the rioters won’t go
more than two miles, or three at the farthest. At least, so the story goes.
Willet: (testily) The story goes! --- Yes, sir. The story goes that you saw a ghost last March. But nobody
believes it.
Daisy: Well! (as his two friends titter) Believed or disbelieved, it’s true; and true or not, if we mean to go to
London, we must be going at once. We’ll go off the main road for a ways, to be safe. So shake hands,
Johnny, and good night.
Willet: (putting his hands in his pockets) I shall shake hands with no man as goes to London on such
nonsensical errands.
They accordingly shake his elbows, bid him good night, and leave.
Narration: John Willet looked after them; and laughed at their folly. When he had quite exhausted himself,
he sat himself comfortably, put up his legs upon a stool, then his apron over his face, and fell sound asleep.
When he awoke, a few bright stars were already twinkling overhead. Was there a sound in the air? Hark!
Something very faint and distant?... Presently, it came again — swelled into a roar. Voices, and the drunken
singing of many men. Shouting and whooping like savages, they came rushing on pell mell.
A mob rushes into the Maypole. Willet is bandied from hand to hand, in the heart of a crowd of men, which
includes Hugh and Simon Tappertit.
Hugh: (cleaving through the throng) Halloa! Where is he? Give him to me. Don’t hurt him. How now, old
Jack! Ha ha ha! (Willet looks at him, but says --- and perhaps only thinks --- nothing.) These lads are thirsty
and must drink! (thrusting him back towards the house) Bustle, Jack, bustle. Show us the best — the very
best — the over–proof that you keep for your own drinking, Jack!
Willet: (faintly) Who’s to pay?
Hugh: (with a roar of laughter) Who’s to pay? Pay! Why, nobody.
Narration: John stared round at the mass of faces — and found himself sitting down in an arm–chair, and
watching the destruction of his property, as if it were some queer play or entertainment.
Willet: (a confused aside, as the destruction occurs around him, largely via sound effects of crashes,
breakage, smashing, etc.) Yes. Here was my bar — crammed with men, clubs, sticks, torches, pistols; filled
with a deafening noise, oaths, shouts, screams, hootings; men darting in and out, by door and window,
smashing my glass, turning my taps, drinking liquor out of my China punchbowls, sitting astride of casks,
smoking private and personal pipes, hacking and hewing at my celebrated cheese, breaking open drawers,
putting things in their pockets --- my things --- which didn’t belong to them, dividing my own money before
my eyes, wantonly wasting, breaking, pulling down and tearing up: men everywhere — above, below,
overhead, in my bedrooms, in my kitchen, my yard, my stables; leaping over my bannisters: new faces and
figures presenting themselves every instant — yelling, singing, fighting: more men still — more, more,
more — swarming on like insects: noise, smoke, light, darkness, frolic, anger, laughter, groans, plunder,
fear, and ruin!
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 34
While John looked on at this bewildering scene, Hugh keeps near him.
Hugh: (striding up to him) Look’ee here, Jack! (after shaking John, without effect) He’s out of his senses
for the time, it’s my belief Where’s that rope? We are going to tie you, hand and foot, but otherwise you
won’t be hurt. D’ye hear?
Hugh proceeds to bind old John himself. Willet is soon trussed in a chair. John Willet looks at another
man, as if he doesn’t know which was the speaker, and mutters to himself.
Hugh: (roaring and smacking Willet’s back) You won’t be hurt I tell you, Jack — do you hear me? He’s so
dead scared, he’s woolgathering, I think. Give him a drop of something to drink here. Hand over, one of
you.
A glass of liquor is passed forward by Simon; Hugh pours the contents down old John’s throat. Willet feebly
smacks his lips
Willet: (absently) What’s to pay? (looking vacantly around) I believe there’s a trifle of broken glass —
Hugh: (shaking his head, as he drinks defiantly in front of Willet’s face) Forward! (the mob echoes the cry)
To the Warren! A witness’s house, my lads! (The mob is as suddenly gone as they arrived, whooping and
screaming, mad for pillage and destruction.)
Act Six, Scene Three - On the road to London.
Narration: The Maypole cronies struck through the Forest path upon their way to London. As they drew
nearer to their destination, they began to make inquiries of the people whom they passed, concerning the
riots, and the truth or falsehood of the stories they had heard. All accounts agreed that the mob were out;
that the streets were unsafe; that no man’s house or life was worth an hour’s purchase. They dismounted at
a turnpike–gate, when a horseman rode up from London at a hard gallop on the other side, and called in a
voice of great agitation.
Haredale: Open quickly, in the name of God! (He appears, having left his horse on the other side of the
gate.)
Daisy: Mr. Haredale!
Parkes: (turning to look back in the direction they’ve come from) Good Heaven, what’s that?
Cobb: A fire!
Narration: At this, they turned their heads, and saw in the distance — in the direction of the Maypole or
beyond — a broad sheet of flame, casting a threatening light upon the clouds, which glimmered with the
conflagration, and showed like a wrathful sunset.
Haredale: My mind misgives me, or I know from what far building those flames come. Don’t stand aghast,
friends. Help me open the gate for my horse!
Parkes: Sir, Mr. Haredale, be advised by us; do not go on. We’ve heard of ruffians passing this way, and
suspect what kind of men they are. You will be murdered.
Haredale: So be it! (looking intently towards the fire)
Daisy: No! (as the three friends press round him) Mr. Haredale — worthy sir — good gentleman — pray be
persuaded.
Haredale: Who’s that? (stooping down to look ) Is that Solomon Daisy? And Mr. Cobb and Parkes?
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 35
Daisy: Ay, sir Do not go, sir.
Cobb: You cannot face them alone.
Parkes: They are out to do mischief to Catholics, sir.
Haredale: (after a moment’s thought) Then my niece and Dolly and my few servants are in peril. Are you
afraid to come with me? I may need you as a witnesses.
Daisy: Us, sir?
Parkes and Cobb: We’ll all go with you, sir!
Haredale: (taking out a blue cockade) If we meet the rioters, you needn’t endanger yourselves. Fly for
more aid. I will tell them I’m the sole man of my religion among us; for as I hope for mercy when I die, I
will take no quarter from them, nor shall they have quarter from me, if we come hand to hand tonight.
Mount your horses. But first, gentlemen, come help me with the gate. (They exit.)
Act Six, Scene Four - The Maypole Inn.
Narration: In an instant they were riding away, at full gallop. It was well their horses knew the road they
traversed, for never once did Mr. Haredale, leading, cast his eyes upon the ground, or turn them, for an
instant, from the light towards which they sped so madly. Once he said in a low voice, ‘It is my house,’ but
that was the only time he spoke. But on, on, on, till they reached the Maypole door, and could plainly see
that the fire began to fade, as if for want of fuel.
Haredale: Willet — Willet — where are my niece and servants — Willet!
Crying to him distractedly, Haredale rushes into the bar. — The landlord bound and fastened to his chair;
the place dismantled, stripped, and pulled about his ears. Daisy and the others follow.
Daisy: Johnny, Johnny
Parkes: Oh dear old Johnny, here’s a change!
Cobb: That the Maypole bar should come to this, and we should live to see it!
Haredale: Willet — did my niece and the others escape to you? Are they safe here somewhere?
Cobb: You know us, don’t you, Johnny?
Daisy: Daisy, you know — Chigwell Church — bell–ringer — eh, Johnny?
Willet: (muttering) Let us sing to the praise and glory of —
Daisy: Yes, to be sure, that’s it — that’s me, Johnny.
Parkes: You’re all right now, an’t you? Say you’re all right, Johnny.
Willet: (pondering) All right? ... All right? Ah!
Cobb: (with a very anxious glance at Mr. Willet’s head) They didn’t beat you, did they?
Willet: (shaking his head, in tears) If they’d only had the goodness to murder me, I’d have thanked ‘em
kindly.
Daisy: (whimpering) No, no, no, don’t say that, Johnny It’s very, very bad, but not quite so bad as that.
No, no!
Haredale: Your loss is great, and your misfortune a heavy one --- and this is not a time to comfort you.
Have you seen, or heard of Emma?
Willet: No!
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 36
Haredale: Nor anyone but these bloodhounds?
Willet: No!
Haredale: They rode away, I trust in Heaven, before these dreadful scenes began
Narration: Abruptly, Mr. Haredale, started that moment to his feet; and, without a word left, mounted his
horse, and flew rather than galloped towards the pile of ruins. Mr. Haredale tied his horse to the trunk of a
tree, and stole softly along the footpath, and into what had been the garden of his house. He stopped for an
instant to look upon its smoking walls, and at the stars that shone through roof and floor upon the heap of
crumbling ashes. His lips were tightly pressed together, a resolute and stern expression sat upon his brow,
and not a tear, a look, or gesture indicating grief, escaped him. He drew his sword; then, went with a
cautious step all round the house.
Haredale: Is there any one in hiding here, who knows my voice! There is nothing to fear now. If any of my
people are near, I entreat them to answer!
Narration: He was standing near the foot of the turret, where the alarm–bell hung. The fire had raged there,
and the floors had been sawn, and hewn, and beaten down, besides. It was open to the night; but a part of the
staircase still remained, winding upward from a great mound of dust and cinders.
INTERMISSION
Act Seven, Scene One – Newgate Prison.
Narration: The Newgate Prison cell, in which the handcuffed Barnaby had been locked, was very dark,
and by no means clean. Barnaby felt his way to some straw at the farther end, and tried to accustom himself
to the gloom. He then became aware that two men were very near the door of his cell.
Sergeant: I’ll tell you what. I wish, Tom Green, that I was a commissioned instead of a non-commissioned
officer, and had the command of two companies — only two companies — of my own regiment. Call me
out to stop these riots — give me the needful authority, and half–a–dozen rounds of ball cartridge —
Tom Green: Ay! That’s all very well, but they won’t give the needful authority. If the magistrate won’t
give the word, what’s the officer to do?
Sergeant: Where’s the use of a magistrate? Here’s a proclamation. Here’s a man referred to in that
proclamation. Here’s proof against him, and a witness on the spot. Damme! Take him out and shoot him,
sir. Who wants a magistrate? --- Mark what follows. The magistrate commits him to Newgate. Our people
bring him here to Newgate. The rioters pelt our people. Our people retire before the rioters. Stones are
thrown, insults are offered, not a shot’s fired. Why? Because of the magistrates. Damn the magistrates!
Narration: Barnaby, who had wit enough to know that this conversation concerned himself, groped his
way to the door, peeping through the bars. The one who condemned the civil power in such strong terms,
was a sergeant. The other man had his back towards the dungeon, and Barnaby could only see his form. To
judge from that, he was a gallant, manly, handsome fellow, but he had lost his left arm. It had been taken off
between the elbow and the shoulder, and his empty coat–sleeve hung across his breast. There was
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 37
something soldierly in his bearing. Perhaps he had been in the service at one time or other. If he had, it could
not have been very long ago, for he was but a young fellow now.
Tom Green: (thoughtfully) Well, well, let the fault be where it may, it makes a man sorrowful to come back
to old England, and see her in this condition.
Sergeant: I suppose the pigs will join ‘em next, now that the birds have set ‘em the example.
Tom Green: The birds!
Sergeant: Go to the guard–house, and see. You’ll find a bird there, that’s got their cry as pat as any of ‘em,
and bawls ‘No Popery,’ like a man — or like a devil, as he says he is. Damme if I wouldn’t twist his neck
round, on the chance, if I had MY way.
Barnaby: It’s mine (half laughing and half weeping) --- My pet, my friend Grip. Ha ha ha! Don’t hurt
him, he has done no harm. I taught him; it’s my fault. Let me have him, if you please. He’s the only friend I
have left now. You wouldn’t hurt a bird, I’m sure. You’re a brave soldier, sir, and wouldn’t harm a woman
or a child — no, no, nor a poor bird, I’m certain.
Sergeant: Oh, damn you for the thief and rebel that you are; by my eyes, liver, blood, and body, I assure
you, if it rested with me to decide, I’d put a final stopper on that bird — and his master too.
Barnaby: (angry) You talk boldly to a caged man If I was on the other side of the door and there were
none to part us, you’d change your note! Kill the bird — do. Kill anything you can, and so revenge yourself
on those who with their bare hands untied could do as much to you! (He flings himself into the furthest
corner of his prison, and mutters tearfully.) Good bye, Grip — good bye, dear old Grip!
Narration: Barnaby had had some fancy at first, that the one–armed man would help him, or would give
him a kind word in answer. The young fellow had stopped when he called out, and checking himself in the
very act of turning round, stood listening to every word he said. However the other went away directly when
he had finished speaking, as did the sergeant. Yet he later returned, his head covered and turned from
Barnaby’s gaze — and thrust in Grip, who, with his head drooping and his deep black plumes rough and
rumpled, appeared to comprehend and to partake, his master’s fallen fortunes.
Act Seven, Scene Two – The Boot Tavern.
Emma and Dolly, bound with hands behind them, gagged, with cloth bags over their heads, are brought by
Hugh into a bare room, with a single stool as the furnishings.
Narration: Following their abduction from the flames of Emma Haredale’s home, that terrified young
woman, and the equally bound and silenced Dolly Varden, were brought to an upstairs room of the Boot
Tavern. Blindfolded and thrust into a galloping coach for miles, they had no idea where they’d now been
taken, nor why. But they were all too well aware of the man who had led their kidnappers, and lit the first
torch to the Warren.
Hugh: Ah, my brave birds --- here’s your cage for the moment. (taking off their hoods) Delicate birds —
tender, loving, little doves. Now, not a peep out of you, my chicks. Not that any screams would help you.
This place is remote enough, no windows in this room, as you can see, well watched on every side, and none
of the fellows guarding it care for you as much as I. (as he frees Emma, and then Dolly from their gags) Ha
ha ha! and did you scratch, and pinch, and struggle, pretty mistress? (as Dolly struggles) --- You, so bright–
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 38
eyed, and cherry–lipped, and daintily made? But I love you better for it, mistress. Ay, I do. (She writhes as
he attempts to kiss her; he laughs and throws her down to the floor.) Come! There’s enough of that. If you
want to be untied, you’ll stay quiet ‘til I return. (He exits and murmuring is heard outside the door.)
Emma: Dolly, has he hurt you? Where have they taken us? We were hours in that coach, blinded and
gagged. And they’ve burned the Warren to the ground, surely.
Dolly: Dear Emma, from what I could hear, I think they’ve hidden us somewhere in London, on the edges
of town. The soldiers are sure to come… We must be rescued, I know it; we must be released…
(bursting into tears) But what will they do or think?... Who will comfort them, at home --- at the Golden
Key? Or your uncle?
Emma: (trying to quiet her) Dolly, dear Dolly, if we remain quiet and lull the vigilance of these ruffians,
our chances of procuring assistance will be very much increased. A hot pursuit was surely immediately
commenced; my uncle will never rest until he has found and rescued us. Would that my dear Edward were
in England, and knew of our plight.
Dolly: And Joe — poor, fond, slighted Joe! What a brave fellow he was, and how he would have rode
boldly up, and dashed in among these villains now --- yes, though they were double the number...
Hugh suddenly enters and takes a seat between them. They start to cry for help, but he puts his arm about
their necks.
Hugh: Now, now, my lovelies --- you must be silent as the grave or I swear I shall stifle you with kisses...
(They shrink from his touch; he unties Dolly’s hands and she pushes at him.) So don’t be quiet, pretty
mistresses — make a noise — do — and I shall like it all the better. (Dolly kneels beside her friend, and
unties her.)
Emma: Why have you brought us here? Are we to be murdered?
Hugh: Murdered! (sitting down upon the stool, and regarding her with great favor) Why, my dear, who’d
murder sich chickabiddies as you? If you was to ask me, now, whether you was brought here to be married,
there might be something in it. (he grins) No, no There’ll be no murdering, my pets. Nothing of that sort.
Quite the contrairy.
Emma: (trembling) Have you no pity for us? Do you not consider that we are women?
Hugh: I do indeed, my dear. It would be very hard not to, with two such specimens afore my eyes. Ha ha!
Oh yes, I consider that. (He shakes his head waggishly, leers and laughs) There’ll be no murdering, my
dear. Not a bit on it.
Emma faints, making Hugh laugh.
Hugh: She’s fainted. (growling) So much the better She’s quiet. Look ye, pretty bird (drawing Dolly
towards him) Remember what I told you — a kiss for every cry. Scream, if you love me, darling. Scream
once, mistress. Pretty mistress, only once, if you love me.
Mr. Tappertit suddenly enters; at sight of whom Dolly utters a scream of joy, and throws herself into his
arms.
Dolly: I knew it, I was sure of it! My dear father’s at the door. Thank God, thank God! Bless you, Sim.
Heaven bless you for this!
Hugh responds with a loud laugh, which makes Dolly draw back to Emma, and regard Sim with a fixed and
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 39
earnest look. He appears embarrassed.
Simon: (after a very awkward silence) Miss Haredale, I hope you’re as comfortable as circumstances will
permit of. Dolly Varden, my darling — my own, my lovely one — I hope YOU’RE pretty comfortable
likewise.
Seeing how it is, Dolly hides her face in her hands; and sobs more bitterly than ever.
Simon: You meet in me, Miss V., (laying his hand upon his breast) not a ‘prentice, not a workman, not a
slave, not the wictim of your father’s tyrannical behavior, but the leader of a great people, the captain of a
noble band, in which these gentlemen are, as I may say, corporals and sergeants. You behold in me, not a
private individual, but a public character; not a mender of locks, but a healer of the wounds of his unhappy
country. Dolly V., sweet Dolly V., for how many years have I looked forward to this present meeting! For
how many years has it been my intention to exalt and ennoble you! I redeem it. Behold in me, your husband.
Yes, beautiful Dolly — charmer — enslaver — S. Tappertit is all your own!
He advances towards her. Dolly grabs his hair.
Dolly: (amidst her tears) You’re a dreadful little wretch, and always have been!!!
She shakes, pulls, and beats him.
Simon: (most lustily) Help! Help! Help, help, help!!!
Hugh parts them, admiring Dolly all the more.
Simon: (soothing his ruffled feathers) She’s in an excited state tonight and don’t know when she’s well off.
They shall remain locked in here together till tomorrow. Come away!
Hugh: Ay! Come away, captain. Ha ha ha!
Simon: (sternly) What are you laughing at?
Hugh: (clapping Simon on the shoulder) Nothing, captain, nothing. (he laughs again)
Simon: You’ll take notice, ladies, that this place is well watched on every side, and that the least noise is
certain to be attended with unpleasant consequences. You’ll hear — both of you — more of our intentions
tomorrow. In the meantime, make no cries for aid; for if you do, it’ll be known directly that you come from
a Catholic house, and all the exertions our men can make, may not be able to save your lives.
He turns to the door, followed by Hugh --- who pauses for a moment, going out, to look at them clasped in
each other’s arms, and then leaves the room.
Act Seven, Scene Two A – The courtyard of Newgate Prison.
Narration: Mr. Dennis, the Newgate head jailer, unlocked the door of Rudge’s cell, set it wide open,
informing its inmate --Dennis: Rudge, you’re at liberty to walk in the adjacent yard for an hour. Mind, there are guards on sides.
So no slyness with the other prisoners. There’s only one out there now, anyway.
Narration: The prisoner answered with a sullen nod. For the sense of loneliness he had, he might have been
in jail a year. Made eager by the hope of companionship, he quickened his pace. It was a dull, square yard,
made cold and gloomy by high walls, and seeming to chill the very sunlight. The stone, so bare, and rough,
and obdurate. The prisoner’s attention was suddenly attracted by a familiar voice, in song. Presently he
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 40
saw the shadow of a figure on the pavement and hastened to meet the man half way… — What was this!
His son!
They stand, staring at each other, as Grip hops and croaks around them. Rudge is shrinking and cowed,
despite himself; Barnaby struggles with his imperfect memory, wondering where he has seen that face
before. Then Barnaby suddenly grabs his father, and striving to bear him to the ground, cries:
Barnaby: Ah! I know! You are the robber!
(Rudge struggles with him silently, at first; then, finding the younger man too strong for him, he raised his
face, and looks close into his eyes.)
Rudge: I am your father.
(Barnaby releases his hold, falls back, and looks at him aghast. Suddenly he springs towards him, pust his
arms about his neck, and presses his head against his cheek.)
Barnaby: Yes, yes, you are; I am sure you are. But where have you been so long, and why did you leave my
mother by herself, or worse than by herself, with me, her poor foolish boy? And was my mother really once
as happy as they said? And where is she? Is she near here? She is not happy now, and you in jail? Ah, no.
Narration: Not a word was said in answer; but Grip croaked loudly, and hopped about them, round and
round, as if enclosing them in a magic circle, and invoking all the powers of mischief.
Act Seven, Scene Three – The tavern room of the Boot.
As Hugh and Sim enter, the Bulldogs are drinking, nervous, some guarding the door and windows.
Hugh: Has anyone of you heard where they’ve taken our hero? Who knows anything about it? (looking
round him) You know who I mean — Barnaby, who brought the soldier down, at Westminster. Has any
man seen or heard of him?
Bulldog: (as his fellows shake their head and murmur in the negative) There’s a fellow without who’s been
asking for you. Says he knows of the simpleton. But he’s not known to us.
Hugh: He is but one man --- let him come in.
The Bulldog goes to the door and signals. A one–armed man, with his head and face tied up with a bloody
cloth, as though he had been severely beaten, his clothes torn, and his remaining hand grasping a thick
stick, rushes in among them, and panting for breath
One-Armed Man: Which --- which is Hugh?
Hugh: Here he is I am Hugh. What do you want with me?
One-Armed Man: I have a message for you You know one Barnaby.
Hugh: What of him? Did he send the message?
One-Armed Man: Yes. He’s taken. He’s in one of the strong cells in Newgate. He defended himself as
well as he could, but was overpowered by numbers. That’s his message.
Hugh: (hastily) When did you see him?
One-Armed Man: On his way to prison, where he was taken by a party of soldiers. They took a by–road,
and not the one we expected. I was one of the few who tried to rescue him, and he called to me, and told me
to tell Hugh where he was. We made a good struggle, though it failed. Look here! (He points to his dress
and to his bandaged head.) I know you by sight, for I was in the crowd on Friday, and on Saturday, and
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 41
yesterday, but I didn’t know your name. You’re a bold fellow, I know. So is he. He fought like a lion, but it
was of no use. I did my best, considering that I want this limb. (He glances inquisitively round the room, his
face nearly hidden by the bandage.)
Bulldog: If we bear this tamely, another day will see us all in jail!!
Another Bulldog: If we’d stood our ground and rescued him right there, this would not have happened.
Yet Another: Who’ll follow me to Newgate?!!!
There are shouts and a general rush towards the door. But Hugh stands in their way.
Simon: To go now, in broad day, would be madness; but if we wait until night, with an ingenious plan of
attack, we may release, not only Barnaby, but all the prisoners, and burn Newgate down.
Hugh: Not that jail alone, but every jail in London. They shall have no place to put their prisoners in. We’ll
burn them all down; make bonfires of them every one! Here! Let all who’re men here, join with us. Shake
hands upon it. Barnaby out of jail, and not a jail left standing! Who joins? (The crowd cheers lustily as the
lights fade. And the one-armed man slips away.)
Act Seven, Scene Four - The Golden Key
Narration: It was about six o’clock in the evening, when a vast mob poured into Lincoln’s Inn Fields by
every avenue, designed for the attack on Newgate. It comprehended all the rioters who had been
conspicuous in any of their former proceedings; all those whose companions had been taken in the riots;
and a great number of people who were relatives or friends of felons in the jail. Old swords, and pistols
without ball or powder; sledge–hammers, knives, axes, saws, and weapons pillaged from the butchers’
shops; a forest of iron bars and wooden clubs; long ladders for scaling the walls; lighted torches; staves
roughly plucked from fence and paling; and even crutches taken from crippled beggars in the streets;
composed their arms. When all was ready, Hugh with Simon Tappertit led the way. Roaring and chafing
like an angry sea, the crowd pressed after them. Instead of going straight down Holborn to the jail, as all
expected, their leaders took the way to Clerkenwell, and pouring down a quiet street, halted before a
locksmith’s house — the Golden Key.
Hugh: Beat at the door. We want one of his craft tonight. Beat it in, if no one answers.
Narration: The shop was shut. Both door and shutters were of a strong and sturdy kind, and they knocked
without effect. But the impatient crowd raising a cry of ‘Set fire to the house!’ and torches being passed to
the front, the door was suddenly thrown open, and the stout old locksmith stood before them, armed and
defiant.
Gabriel: What now, you villains! Where is my daughter?
Hugh: (waving his comrades to be silent) Ask no questions of us, old man, but put down your weapon and
come with us --- and bring the tools of your trade. We want you.
Gabriel: Mark me, my lad — and you about him do the same. There are a score among ye whom I see now
and know, who are dead men from this hour. Begone! and rob an undertaker’s while you can! You’ll want
some coffins before long.
Hugh: Will you put down your gun?
Gabriel: Will you give me my daughter, ruffian?
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 42
Hugh: I know nothing of her Take him, men!
Gabriel: (firmly) Let the man who tries, take heed to his prayers. I warn him.
Narration: Hugh was stepping forward with an oath, when he was arrested by a shrill and piercing shriek,
and, looking upward, saw a fluttering garment at a window.
Miggs: (appearing at another window) Is Simmun below!
Narration: At the same moment a neck and nightcap was stretched over the sill, and Miss Miggs,
indistinctly seen in the gathering gloom of evening, screeched in a frenzied manner --Miggs: Oh! dear gentlemen, let me hear Simmuns’s answer from his own lips. Speak to me, Simmun.
Speak to me!
Simon: Miggs, hold your peace! We want your master, not you --- and will take no denial!!
Miggs: Oh good gentlemen! Oh my own precious, precious Simmun—
Simon: Hold your nonsense, will you! --- And G. Varden, drop that gun, or it will be worse for you.
Miggs: Don’t mind his gun --- Simmun and gentlemen, I poured a mug of table–beer right down the barrel.
It wouldn’t go off, not if you was to load it up to the muzzle.
The crowd gives a loud shout, which is followed by a roar of laughter. After dealing a few stout blows about
him, Gabriel finds himself defenseless, in the midst of a furious crowd, and brought into the street.
Miggs: Simmun and gentlemen, I’ve been locked up here for safety, but my endeavors has always been,
and always will be, to be on the right side — the blessed side and to prenounce the Pope of Babylon, and all
her inward and her outward workings, which is Pagin. My sentiments is of little consequences, I know, for
my positions is but a servant, and as sich, of humilities, still I gives expressions to my feelings, and places
my reliances on them which entertains my own opinions!
Stagg comes forward from the crowd.
Stagg: If he’s grabbed, Captain, take him to the nearest lamp-post and hang him. He’ll never do what we
wish of him, anyway.
But Gabriel is quite undaunted, and looks from Hugh to Simon Tappertit, who confront him.
Gabriel: You have robbed me of my daughter, who is far dearer to me than my life; and you may take my
life, if you will. I bless God that I have been enabled to keep my wife free of this scene; and that He has
made me a man who will not ask mercy at such hands as yours.
Stagg: (approvingly) And a very game old gentleman you are --- and you express yourself like a man.
What’s the odds, brother, whether it’s a lamp–post tonight, or a feather–bed ten year to come, eh? For my
part, I honor your principles. They’re mine exactly. — Have you got a bit of cord anywheres handy? Don’t
put yourself out of the way, if you haven’t. A handkecher will do.
Hugh: (whispering and seizing Varden roughly by the shoulder) Don’t be a fool, master, but do as you’re
bid. You’ll soon hear what you’re wanted for. Do it!
Gabriel: I’ll do nothing at your request, or that of any scoundrel here If you want any service from me,
you may spare yourselves the pains of telling me what it is. I tell you, beforehand, I’ll do nothing for you.
Voice in the Crowd (somewhat familiar): He has a grey head. He is an old man: Don’t hurt him!
Gabriel: (after turning with a start towards the voice) Pay no respect to my grey hair, young man I don’t
ask it. My heart is green enough to scorn and despise every man among you, band of robbers that you are!
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 43
Hugh: Remember, people, we want his services, and we must have them. (to Simon) So, tell him what we
want --- and quickly. (to Gabriel) And open your ears, master, if you would ever use them after tonight.
Sim: Lookye, Varden, we’re bound for Newgate Prison.
Gabriel: I know you are... You never said a truer word than that.
Sim: To burn it down, I mean, and force the gates, and set the prisoners at liberty. You helped to make the
lock of the great door.
Gabriel: I did. You owe me no thanks for that — as you’ll find before long.
Sim: Maybe...but you must show us how to force it.
Gabriel: Must I!
Sim: Yes; for you know, and I don’t. You must come along with us, and pick it with your own hands.
Gabriel: (quietly) When I do, my hands shall drop off at the wrists, and you shall wear them, Simon
Tappertit, on your shoulders for epaulettes.
Hugh: We’ll see that You fill a basket with the tools he’ll want, while I bring him along. Help me with
him, some of you.
Stagg: And help the great captain, others! Is there no business afoot, my lads, that you can do nothing but
stand and grumble?
A Bulldog: Is the young woman in the garret (who is making that terrible noise) to be released? (he exits to
set her free)
Sim: (crying after him) No, we need not let her out --Stagg: But the beautiful Miggs has done us good service in the matter of the gun, my brave Captain, has she
not?
Sim: Yes, but --Miggs, having been released, enters the room, crosses to Sim and cries:
Miggs: My Simmuns’s life is not a wictim! (She drops into his arms with such promptitude that he staggers
and reels some paces back, beneath his lovely burden.)
Sim: Oh bother! --- Here. Catch hold of her, somebody. Lock her up again; she never ought to have been let
out.
Miggs: My Simmun! (in tears, and faintly) My for ever, ever blessed Simmun!
Sim: Hold up, will you? I’ll let you fall if you don’t. What are you sliding your feet off the ground for?
Miggs: My angel Simmuns! --- he promised —
Sim: (testily) Promised! Well, and I’ll keep my promise I mean to provide for you, don’t I? Stand up!
Miggs: Where am I to go? What is to become of me after my actions of this night! What resting–places now
remains but in the silent tombses!
Sim: I wish you was in the silent tombses, I do --- and boxed up tight, in a good strong one. Here… (to one
of the Bulldogs, in whose ear he whispers for a moment) Take her off, will you. You understand where?
Narration: The fellow nodded; and taking her in his arms, notwithstanding her broken protestations, and
her struggles (which latter species of opposition, involving scratches, was much more difficult of
resistance), carried her away. The mob once again poured out into the street; the locksmith was taken to the
head of the crowd, and required to walk between his two conductors, Hugh and Stagg; the whole body was
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 44
put in rapid motion; and without any shouts or noise they bore down straight on Newgate, and halted in a
dense mass before the prison–gate.
Act Seven, Scene Five – That night, following Mr. Haredale’s trail to Newgate and beyond.
Narration: Mr. Haredale, from the dawn of morning until sunset, had sought his niece in every place where
he deemed it possible she could have taken refuge. He prosecuted his inquiries far and wide, and never so
much as sat down, once. In every quarter he could think of, at Chigwell and in London, he pursued his
search. A prey to the most harrowing anxieties and apprehensions, he wandered into one of the streets by
the side of the river, and was pacing in a thoughtful manner up and down, when he overheard whispers that
the mob were attacking Newgate.
To Newgate! where that man was! Rudge! His failing strength returned, his energies came back with
tenfold vigor, on the instant. If it were possible — if they should set the murderer free — was he, after all he
had undergone, to die with the suspicion of having slain his own brother — He had no consciousness of
going to the jail; but there he stood, before it. There was the crowd wedged and pressed together in a dense,
dark, moving mass. Mr. Haredale was recognised; for he was suddenly pulled from the scene by strong
arms. His head turned round and round, lights flashed before his eyes, and he struggled hard with two
men.
Edward (disguised): Nay, nay --- be more yourself, my good sir. We attract attention here. Come away.
These folk care not for men of your faith.
Haredale: Leave me here, and in Heaven’s name, my good friend, save yourself!
Edward: What can you do among so many men?
One-Armed Man: The gentleman’s always for doing something --- (forcing Haredale along) I like him for
that. I do like him for that.
Haredale: (faintly) What does this mean? How came we together?
Edward (disguised): We’re here to help another, captured by the mob. But we saw you on the skirts of
the rioters — but come with us. Pray come with us. You seem to know my friend here?
Haredale: (looking in a kind of stupor at the one-armed man) Surely.
Edward (disguised): He’ll tell you then that I am a man to be trusted. He’s my servant. He brought, in pure
goodwill to me and others, who are marked by the rioters, such intelligence as he had picked up, of their
designs. But come with us, sir; pray come with us.
Narration: Mr. Haredale let them lead him where they would. They safely accompanied him to a nearby
alleyway, in the shadows and free of the mob. There, finally, they pulled off what they wore upon their
heads. Mr. Haredale saw before him, and gasped the names of --Haredale: Edward Chester --- and Joe Willet.
Joe: (softly) Give me your hand Don’t fear to shake it; it’s a friendly one and a hearty one, though it has
no fellow. Why, how well you look and how bluff you are! And you — God bless you, sir. Take heart, take
heart. We’ll find them. Be of good cheer; we have not been idle. (Haredale and Edward exchange awkward
looks.) Times are changed, Mr. Haredale, and times have come when we ought to know friends from
enemies, and make no confusion of names. Let me tell you that but for this gentleman, you would most
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 45
likely have been dead by this time, or badly wounded at the best.
Haredale: What do you say?
Joe: I say, first, that it was a bold thing to be in the crowd at all disguised as one of them; though I won’t say
much about that, on second thoughts, for that’s my case too. Secondly, that it was was sharp eyes to have
spotted you before that foul fellow did, and gotten you away from such dangers!
Haredale: What fellow!
Joe: What fellow, sir! --- a fellow who has no goodwill to you, and who has the daring and devilry in him of
twenty fellows. I know him of old. He worked at the Maypole, before I left it. He’s a leader of the mob and
seeks your death. And has spirited away your Miss Emma and my --- that is, Mr. Varden’s daughter,
Dolly.
Edward: But you should stay safely hidden here, sir. You are too exhausted and recognizable to be of aid
to us. I swear to you, we will deal with Maypole Hugh, to be sure. And find out where he has hidden
Emma and Dolly.
Joe: We’ve forewarned the military, and a trap’s been laid at the prison for Hugh and the mob, if they’re
foolhardy enough to bring it upon themselves. But they’ve now captured Gabriel Varden, to pick the
Newgate lock. The stout old fellow will surely die rather than help the rioters.
Edward: So we must return to the prison immediately, disguised as we’ve been for many nights. Stay
here, Mr. Haredale; we will fetch you once Varden is safe. (They leave him.)
Haredale: God bless you both, for you are surely guardian angels sent to us in our very hour of need.
Act Seven, Scene Six - The front gate of Newgate Prison.
Narration: The rioters raised a great cry as soon as they were ranged before the jail, and demanded to speak
to the governor. Before they had repeated their summons many times, a man appeared atop the wall of the
great gate, and asked
Dennis: My fellow citizens, loyal and obedient to our good king George, I’m sure --- what do you want
here?
Hugh: Are you Mr. Dennis, the head jailer?
Dennis: Yes, I am.
Stagg: You have got some friends of ours in your custody, master.
Dennis: I have a good many people in my custody.
Hugh: Deliver up our friends and you may keep the rest.
Dennis: It’s my duty to keep them all. I shall do my duty.
Hugh: If you don’t throw the doors open, we shall break ‘em down, for we will have the rioters out. We
will have Barnaby Rudge set free! (The crowd roars Barnaby’s name.)
Dennis: All I can do, good people, is to exhort you to disperse; and to remind you that the consequences of
any disturbance in this place, will be very severe, and bitterly repented by most of you, when it is too late.
Gabriel: Mr. Dennis... Mr. Dennis.
Dennis: (waving his hand) I will hear no more from any of you.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 46
Gabriel: But I am not one of them; I am an honest man, Mr. Dennis; a respectable tradesman — Gabriel
Varden, the locksmith. You know me?
Dennis: (in an altered voice) You among the crowd!
Gabriel: Brought here by force — brought here to pick the lock of the great door for them Bear witness
for me, Mr. Dennis, that I refuse to do it; and that I will not do it, come what may of my refusal. If any
violence is done to me, please to remember this.
Dennis: Is there no way of helping you?
Gabriel: None, Mr. Dennis. You’ll do your duty, and I’ll do mine. (turning round on them) Once again,
you robbers and cut–throats, I refuse. Ah! Howl till you’re hoarse. I refuse.
Dennis: (hastily) Stay — stay! Mr. Varden, I know you for a worthy man, and one who would do no
unlawful act except upon compulsion —
Gabriel: Upon compulsion, sir --- upon compulsion, sir, I’ll do nothing.
Dennis: (anxiously) Where is that man who spoke to me just now?
Hugh: Here!
Dennis: Do you know what the guilt of murder is, and that by keeping that honest tradesman at your side
you endanger his life!
Hugh: We know it very well, for what else did we bring him here? Let’s have our friends, master, and you
shall have your friend. Is that fair, lads? (The crowd replies with a loud hurrah!)
Gabriel: You see how it is, sir? Keep ‘em out, in King George’s name. Remember what I have said. Good
night!
Stagg deals him a blow upon the face which fells him to the ground. But Gabriel springs up again like a man
in the prime of life, and with blood upon his forehead, catches him by the throat.
Gabriel: You cowardly dog! Give me my daughter. Give me my daughter.
They struggle together. Some cry ‘Kill him,’ and some strive to part them. Tug as Hugh can at the old man’s
wrists, he cannot force him to unclench his hands.
Gabriel: Give me my daughter! Give me my daughter!
Narration: He was down again, and up, and down once more, and buffeting with a score of them, who
bandied him from hand to hand, when the blind Stagg, guided by Varden’s shouts, raised an evil knife, and
swearing a horrible oath, aimed it at the old man’s uncovered head. At that instant, and in the very act, he
fell himself, as if struck by lightning, and over his body a one–armed man came darting to the locksmith’s
side. Another man was with him, and both caught the locksmith roughly in their grasp.
One-Armed Man: Leave him to us! (to Hugh, struggling, as he speaks, to force a passage backward
through the crowd) Leave him to us. Why do you waste your whole strength on such as he, when a couple of
men can finish him in as many minutes! You lose time. Remember the prisoners! Remember Barnaby!
Narration: The cry ran through the mob. Hammers began to rattle on the walls; and every man strove to
reach the prison, and be among the foremost rank. Fighting their way through the press and struggle, as
desperately as if they were in the midst of enemies rather than their own friends, the two men retreated with
the locksmith between them, and dragged him through the very heart of the concourse.
(Edward and Joe, disguised, bear away the semi-conscious Varden.)
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 47
And now the strokes began to fall like hail upon the gate. The clash of iron ringing upon iron, mingled with
the deafening tumult and sounded high above it, as the great sledge–hammers rattled on the nailed and
plated door; but there stood the portal still, as grim and dark and strong as ever.
Meanwhile, others besieged nearby houses, and driving in the doors, brought out furniture, and piled it up
against the prison–gate, to make a bonfire which should burn it down. Upon this costly pile, they smeared
pitch, and tar, and rosin they had brought, and sprinkled it with turpentine. This infernal christening
performed, they fired the pile with lighted matches. The furniture took fire at once. The flames roared high
and fiercely, blackening the prison–wall, and twining up its loftly front like burning serpents. At first they
crowded round the blaze, and vented their exultation only in their looks: but when it grew hotter and fiercer
— when it crackled, leaped, and roared, like a great furnace —— then the mob began to join the whirl, and
with loud yells, and shouts, and clamor, bestirred themselves to feed the fire, and keep it at its height.
Those who were nearest to the pile, heaped up again the burning fragments that came toppling down, and
raked the fire about the door, which, although a sheet of flame, was still a door fast locked and barred, and
kept them out. Great pieces of blazing wood were passed, besides, above the people’s heads to such as Sim,
who stood atop ladders, and holding on with one hand by the prison wall, cast these fire–brands down into
the yards within.
A shout! Another! It was plain the jail could hold out no longer. Pile up the fire!
The door sank down again: it settled deeper in the cinders — tottered — yielded — was down! Down
upon poor Captain Tappertit, his beautiful legs --- the pride of his figure, crushed beneath the smoldering
weight of the monstrous portal.
Instantly shots were fired from the soldiers on the other side, now revealed with muskets raised. Some
wounded rioters screamed in pain, and all fell back, for a moment, and left a clear space about the fire that
lay between them and the jail entry. Hugh leapt upon the blazing heap, and scattered a train of sparks into
the air, and shouted to his fellows to follow him into the prison.
Hugh: No retreating now, lads!!! For Barnaby! The door’s down, now’s our chance to bring down the
whole prison! No Popery!!! No Pope--- (But he is shot down by the soldiers in mid-cry; the rest of the
mob runs away, some carrying the moaning Simon. The sergeant hits Hugh senseless, as he tries to raise
himself once again.)
Sergeant: You’ll go nowhere, you murderous brute, but in the very cells you meant to break. Men, reload
and form a line before the opening. I doubt the cowards will return, but they’ll find us here all night, if
need be. Someone carry this one to be chained --- and bandaged, if it must be done. He’ll hang within a
day or two, regardless.
Act Eight, Scene Two – The Boot.
Narration: Emma Haredale, Dolly, lately joined by Miggs, remained cooped up together in what had now
been their prison for so many days, without seeing any person, or hearing any sound but the murmured
conversation, in an outer room, of the men who kept watch over them. The night had now come; and for
the first time (for their jailers had been regular in bringing food and candles), they were left in darkness.
Any change in their condition in such a place inspired new fears; and when some hours had passed, and the
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 48
gloom was still unbroken, Emma could no longer repress her alarm. They listened attentively. There was
the same murmuring in the outer room, and now and then a moan which seemed to be wrung from a person
in great pain, who made an effort to subdue it, but could not. Even these men seemed to be in darkness too;
for no light shone through the chinks in the door, nor were they moving, as their custom was, but quite still:
the silence being unbroken by so much as the creaking of a board.
Miggs: (to Emma) It must be some misguided Papist who’s been wounded (under her breath) Ally
Looyer! Ally Looyer!
Emma: (with some indignation) Is it possible that you who have seen these men committing the outrages
you have told us of, and who have fallen into their hands, like us, can exult in their cruelties!
Miggs: Personal considerations, miss, sinks into nothing, afore a noble cause. Ally Looyer! Ally Looyer!
Ally Looyer, good gentlemen!
Emma: If the time has come — Heaven knows it may come at any moment — when they are bent on
prosecuting the designs, whatever they may be, with which they have brought us here, can you still
encourage, and take part with them?
Miggs: I thank my goodness–gracious–blessed–stars I can, miss. Ally Looyer, good gentlemen!
Dolly: Miggs, hold your tongue directly.
Miggs: WHICH, was you pleased to observe, Miss Varden?
Dolly: Miggs, hold your tongue.
Miggs: (with hysterical derision) Ho, gracious me! Ho, gracious me! Yes, to be sure I will. Ho yes! I am a
abject slave, and a toiling, moiling, constant–working, always–being–found–fault–with, never–giving–
satisfactions, nor–having–no–time–to–clean–oneself, potter’s wessel—an’t I, miss! Ho yes! My situations
is lowly, and my capacities is limited, and my duties is to humble myself afore the base degenerating
daughters of their blessed mothers — an’t it, miss! Ho yes!
Narration: There was a sudden violent knocking at the door of the house, and then its sudden bursting
open; which was immediately succeeded by a scuffle in the room without, and the clash of weapons.
Transported with the hope that rescue had at length arrived, Emma and Dolly shrieked aloud for help
(indeed they do so); nor were their shrieks unanswered; for after a hurried interval --Gashford, bearing in one hand a drawn sword, and in the other a taper, rushes into the room.
Emma: Sir, you are a stranger to us, but have you come to free us?
Dolly: To return us to our families?
Gashford: For what other purpose am I here? (closing the door, and standing with his back against it) With
what object have I made my way to this place, through difficulty and danger, but to preserve you?
Emma: Dolly, do you hear? (embracing her)
Dolly: This aid is most timely, sir.
Miggs: (intruding with her own embrace of them) Ally looyer, thank the most Protestant Lord above!
Gashford steps forward to put the light upon the table, and immediately returning to his former position
against the door, bares his head, and looks on smilingly.
Emma: (turning hastily towards him) You have news of my uncle, sir?
Dolly: And of my father and mother?
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 49
Gashford: Yes Good news.
Dolly and Emma: They are alive and unhurt?
Gashford: Yes, and unhurt.
Emma: And close at hand?
Gashford: (smoothly) I did not say close at hand; they are at no great distance. (addressing Dolly) YOUR
friends, sweet one, are within a few hours’ journey. You will be restored to them, I hope, tonight.
Emma: (faltering) My uncle, sir —
Gashford: Your uncle, dear Miss Haredale, happily — I say happily, because he has succeeded where
many of our creed have failed, and is safe — has crossed the sea, and is out of Britain.
Miggs: (now unsure of him) Of your creed, sir?
Emma: (faintly) I thank God for it
Gashford: You say well. You have reason to be thankful: greater reason than it is possible for you, who
have seen but one night of these cruel outrages, to imagine.
Emma: Does he desire that I should follow him?
Gashford: IF he desires it! But you do not know the danger of remaining in England, the difficulty of
escape, or the price hundreds would pay to secure the means, when you make that inquiry. Pardon me. I had
forgotten that you could not, being prisoner here.
Emma: I gather, sir, from what you hint at, but fear to tell me, that I have witnessed but the beginning, and
the least, of the violence to which we are exposed, and that it has not yet slackened in its fury?
He shrugs his shoulders, shakes his head, lifts up his hands; and with the same smooth smile, which is not a
pleasant one to see, casts his eyes upon the ground, and remains silent.
Emma: You may venture, sir, to speak plain, and to tell me the worst. We have undergone some
preparation for it.
Dolly: Nay, let us not hear the worst... Sir, tell us the best --- and keep the remainder of your news until
we’re safe among our friends again.
Gashford: It is told in three words The people have risen, to a man, against us; the streets are filled with
soldiers, who support them and do their bidding.
Miggs: (to herself) Ally looyer, ally looyer, I sez…
Gashford: We have no protection but from above, and no safety but in flight; but we are watched on every
hand, and detained here, both by force and fraud. Miss Haredale, I cannot bear by speaking of myself, or
what I have done, or am prepared to do, to seem to vaunt my services before you. But, having powerful
Protestant connections, I happily possessed the means of saving your uncle. And in redemption of my
sacred promise, made to him, I am here; pledged not to leave you until I have placed you in his arms. The
treachery or penitence of one of the men about you, led to the discovery of your place of confinement; and
that I have forced my way here, sword in hand, you see.
Emma: (faltering) You bring us some note or token from my uncle?
Dolly: (pointing at him earnestly) No, he doesn’t --- now I am sure he doesn’t. Don’t go with him for the
world!
Gashford: (frowning angrily upon her) Hush, pretty fool — be silent No, Miss Haredale, I never thought
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 50
of bringing any token, nor did Mr. Haredale think of entrusting me with one — possibly because he had
good experience of my faith and honesty, and owed his life to me. Time presses, and danger surrounds us. If
you decide to remain, remember, Miss Haredale, that I left you with a solemn caution, and acquitting
myself of all the consequences to which you expose yourself.
Emma: Stay, sir! --- One moment, I beg you. Cannot we (she draws Dolly closer to her) go together?
Gashford: People of all ranks and creeds are flying from the town, which is sacked from end to end. The
task of conveying one female in safety through such scenes as we must encounter, to say nothing of
attracting the attention of those who crowd the streets is enough. I have said she will be restored to her
friends tonight. If you accept the service I tender, Miss Haredale, she shall be instantly placed in safe
conduct, and that promise redeemed. Do you decide to remain? Do you stay, or go?
Emma: (in a hurried manner) Dolly, my dear girl, this is our last hope. If we part now, it is only that we
may meet again in happiness and honor. I will trust to this gentleman.
Dolly: (clinging to her) No, no – no! Pray, pray, do not!
Emma: You hear that tonight — within a few hours — think of that! — you will be among those who
would die of grief to lose you, and who are now plunged in the deepest misery for your sake. Pray for me,
dear girl, as I will for you; and never forget the many quiet hours we have passed together. Say one ‘God
bless you!’ Say that at parting!
Dolly says nothing when Emma kisses her cheek, but hangs upon her neck, and sobs, and holds her tight.
Gashford: We have time for no more of this! (unclenching Dolly’s hands, and pushing her roughly off, as
he draws Emma Haredale towards the door) Now! Quick, outside there! Are you ready?
A Loud Voice (Edward’s): Ay! Quite ready!
The door is flung open and Edward knocks Gashford senseless to the floor. Haredale enters, to hug Emma,
even as the Vardens rush in to do the same to Dolly. Then Gabriel turns to Edward and Joe.
Gabriel: See here! See here! where would any of us have been without these two? Oh, Mr. Edward, Mr.
Edward —oh, Joe, Joe, how light, and yet how full, you have made my old heart tonight!
Joe: It was Mr. Edward that knocked him down, sir I longed to do it, but I gave it up to him. (to
Gashford) Come, you brave and honest gentleman! Get your senses together, for you haven’t long to lie
here.
Gashford: (crouching malignantly) Let me be well-used, masters I have access to all my lord Gordon’s
papers, Mr. Haredale; there are very important documents among them. There are a great many in secret
drawers, and distributed in various places, known only to me. I can give some very valuable information,
and render important assistance to any inquiry. You will have to answer it, if I receive ill usage.
Joe: (in deep disgust) Pah! Get up, man; you’re waited for, outside. Get up, do you hear?’
Gashford slowly rises; and picking up his hat, and looking with a baffled malevolence, yet with an air of
despicable humility, all round the room, crawls out.
Joe: And now, gentlemen, the sooner we get back to the Black Lion tavern, the better, perhaps.
Narration: Mr. Haredale nodded assent, and drawing his niece’s arm through his, and taking one of her
hands between his own, passed out straightway; followed by the locksmith, Mrs Varden, and Dolly.
Edward Chester and Joe followed. (Miggs, forgotten, brings up the rear.)
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 51
The outer room through which they had to pass, contained signs of the flown Bulldogs; and lying in hiding
behind a wooden screen which was now thrown down, Simon Tappertit, the recreant ‘prentice, burnt and
bruised, and with a gun–shot wound in his body; and his legs — his perfect legs, the pride and glory of his
life, the comfort of his existence — crushed into shapeless ugliness. Wondering no longer at the moans they
had heard, Dolly kept closer to her father, and shuddered at the sight; but neither bruises, burns, nor gun–
shot wound, nor all the torture of his shattered limbs, sent half so keen a pang to Simon’s breast, as Dolly
passing out, with Joe for her preserver.
Act Eight, Scene Three – Newgate Prison. Next day.
Grip hops around Barnaby and his father, in the prison courtyard.
Narration: Heaven alone can tell, with what vague hopes of duty, and affection; with what strange
promptings of nature, Barnaby watched and shadowed his father in the prison. But that a vague and
shadowy crowd of such ideas came slowly on him; that they taught him to be sorry when he looked upon his
haggard face, that they overflowed his eyes when he tried to kiss him, that they kept him in a tearful
gladness, shading him from the sun, fanning him, soothing him — and wondering when SHE would come
to join them and be happy, is the truth. He sat beside him whenever they were allowed to meet in the
courtyard; listening for her footsteps in every breath of air.
Dennis brings in a shackled and bandaged (limping and half-conscious) Hugh, dumping him on the ground
in the courtyard. Barnaby runs to him, delighted, as Dennis exits.
Rudge: What man is that?
Barnaby: Hugh — Hugh. Only Hugh. You know him. He and I and Grip hid in the woods, by the Chigwell
road. All those years ago. We waited for you to return to the Maypole, after you had robbed Mr. Edward
Chester. But he will not harm you now. Why, you’re afraid of Hugh! Ha ha ha! Afraid of gruff, old, noisy
Hugh! (Hugh mutters to himself, as Barnaby attempts to hear.)
Rudge: (fiercely, making Barnaby shrink back) Why is he here? What has he done?
Barnaby: Why, how stern you are! You make me fear you, though you are my father. Why do you speak to
me so? (Barnaby puts a hand on his sleeve, which Rudge brushes aside)
Rudge: I want --- I want an answer, and you give me only jeers and questions.
Barnaby: This is Hugh — brave Hugh. He was shot last night, when they stormed this prison and burnt
down the front gate. He was trying to set me free! To set us all free! To frolic in the sunshine again, to roam
the fields! Aha! You like him now, do you? You like him now!
Rudge: Why does he lie upon the ground?
Barnaby: He has been shot in the leg, and struck on the head. It’s made him fev-rish, and a bit silly like me.
He says the walls and bars go round, and round, and round with him, and the ground heaves under his feet.
Rudge: (peering at Hugh) He has blood stains on him still
Barnaby: Does the sight of blood turn you sick, father? I see it does, by your face. That’s like me —What
are you looking at?
Rudge: (softly) At nothing! (staring above his son’s head) At nothing!
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 52
Narration: As he tended to Hugh, Barnaby thought how happy they would be — his father, mother, he, and
Hugh — if they could ramble away together, and live in some lonely place, where there were none of these
troubles; and that perhaps the blind man, who had talked so wisely about gold, could teach them how to live
without being pinched by want. But Grip hopped among them, and croaked himself hoarse with dire
predictions, like the famed raven in that unhappy Scottish play.
Act Nine, Scene One - The Black Lion.
Narration: A celebration table had been spread, at the Black Lion Inn, and a company of Vardens, Willets,
Haredales, and one Chester sat down to supper straightway. Finding himself at this supper, surrounded by
faces with which he had been so well acquainted in old times, Mr. Willet recurred to a subject with
uncommon vigor; apparently resolved to understand it now or never. Sometimes, in the course of the meal
and spirited conversation, he laid down his knife and fork, and stared at his son with all his might —
particularly at his maimed side; then, he laid down his knife and fork on either side his plate, and said, as he
looked all round the board:
Willet: It’s been took off!
Gabriel: By George! he’s got it!
Willet: Yes, sir (with the look of a man who felt that he had earned a compliment, and deserved it) --That’s where it is. It’s been took off.
Mrs. Varden: Tell him where it was done, Joe.
Joe: At the defense of the Savannah, father.
Willet: (softly, looking again round the table) At the defense of the Salwanners.
Joe: In America, where the war is
Willet: It was took off in the defense of the Salwanners in America where the war is. (Mr. Willet rises,
walks round to Joe, feels his empty sleeve; shakes his remaining hand; and wipes his eyes) My son’s arm —
was took off — at the defense of the — Salwanners — in America — where the war is...
Narration: Yes, Joe had lost an arm — he — that well–made, handsome, gallant fellow! As Dolly glanced
towards him, and thought of the pain he must have suffered, and the far–off places in which he had been
wandering, and wondered who had been his nurse, and hoped that whoever it was, she had been as kind and
gentle and considerate as she would have been, the tears came rising to her bright eyes, and so before them
all, wept bitterly. (Emma and Mrs. Varden console her.)
Gabriel: (surprised at her sudden emotion) We are all safe now, Dolly. We shall not be separated any
more. Cheer up, my love, cheer up!
Mrs. Varden: Yes, yes, our dear, dear, dearly beloved daughter, (looking at Joe) all is well now, and shall
be better soon, I vow. Miss Haredale and I know, perhaps, better than your father, what injuries you’ve
sustained. And the necessary medicine for your recovery. My god-daughter may be in need of the very
same type of medicinals, in fact. (Emma looks towards Edward and blushes.)
Willet: Mayhap, she needs some ale. That’s what it is, depend upon it — I do, myself. Into the common
room, the whole company, and I’ll buy what’s needed.
Willet leaves the room, followed by the laughing others. Dolly lingers behind, wiping tears, and Mrs.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 53
Varden directs Joe to speak to her. Then they’re left alone.
Joe: (kindly) I am sorry you take on so much, for what is past and gone. Don’t. I can’t bear to see you do it.
Think of it no longer. You are safe and happy now. (Dolly continues crying.) You must have suffered very
much within these few days — and yet you’re not changed, unless it’s for the better. You were — you were
always very beautiful, but you are more beautiful than ever, now. And you must know it. You are told so
very often, I am sure.
Dolly: (sobbing) I shall bless your name as long as I live. I shall never hear it spoken without feeling as if
my heart would burst. I shall remember it in my prayers, every night and morning till I die!
Joe: Will you? Will you indeed? It makes me — well, it makes me very glad and proud to hear you say so.
Dolly sobs, and holds her handkerchief to her eyes. Joe stands, looking at her.
Joe: Your voice brings up old times so pleasantly, that, for the moment, I feel as if that night had come
back, and nothing had happened in the meantime. I feel as if I hadn’t suffered any hardships, but had
knocked down poor Tom Cobb only yesterday, and had come to see you with my bundle on my shoulder
before running away. — You remember?
She says nothing. She raises her eyes for an instant. It is but a glance; a little, tearful, timid glance.
Joe: Well! it was to be otherwise, and was. I have been abroad, fighting all the summer and frozen up all the
winter, ever since. I have come back as poor in purse as I went, and crippled for life besides. Dolly, I did
hope once that I might come back a rich man, and marry you. But I was a boy then, and have long known
better than that. I can’t say, even now, that I shall be glad to see you married, Dolly; but I AM glad to know
that you are admired and courted, and can pick and choose for a happy life. It’s a comfort to me to know that
you’ll talk to your husband about me; and I hope the time will come when I may be able to like him, and to
shake hands with him, and to come and see you as a poor friend who knew you when you were a girl. God
bless you!
He leaves her.
Act Nine, Scene Two - Tuesday night. Newgate Prison.
Narration: After four fearful days and terrifying nights, the disturbances were entirely quelled, and peace
and order were restored to the affrighted city. In a word, the crowd was utterly routed. Upwards of two
hundred had been shot dead. Two hundred and fifty more were badly wounded; of whom seventy or eighty
died within a short time afterwards. A hundred were already in custody, and more were taken every hour.
How many perished in the conflagrations, or by their own excesses, is unknown; but that numbers found a
terrible grave in the hot ashes of the flames they had kindled is certain. Seventy–two private houses and
four strong jails were destroyed in the four great days of these riots. As day deepened into evening, and
darkness crept into the nooks and corners of the town, Barnaby sat in his dungeon, wondering at the silence,
and listening in vain for the noise and outcry which had ushered in the night of late. Beside him, with his
hand in hers, sat one in whose companionship he felt at peace. She was worn, and altered, full of grief, and
heavy–hearted; but the same to him.
Barnaby: Mother, how long — how many days and nights — shall I be kept here?
Mrs. Rudge: Not many, dear. I hope not many.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 54
Barnaby: You hope! Ay, but your hoping will not undo these chains. I hope, but they don’t mind that. Grip
hopes, but who cares for Grip? (The raven gives a short, dull, melancholy croak. It says ‘Nobody,’ as
plainly as a croak can speak.) Who cares for Grip, except you and me? (smoothing the bird’s rumpled
feathers with his hand) He sits and mopes all day in his dark corner, dozing sometimes, and sometimes
looking at the light that creeps in through the bars, and shines in his bright eye as if a spark from those great
fires had fallen into the room and was burning yet. But who cares for Grip? (The raven croaks again —
‘Nobody.’) And by the way, (withdrawing his hand from the bird, and laying it upon his mother’s arm) if
they kill me — they may: I heard it said they would — what will become of Grip when I am dead?
Grip: Never say die!
Barnaby: Will they take HIS life as well as mine? I wish they would. If you and I and he could die together,
there would be none to feel sorry, or to grieve for us. But do what they will, I don’t fear them, mother!
Mrs. Rudge: (tears choking her utterance) They will not harm you! They never will harm you, when they
know all. I am sure they never will
Barnaby: Oh! Don’t be too sure of that They have marked me from the first. I heard them say so to each
other; and I believe them. Don’t you cry for me. They said that I was bold, and so I am, and so I will be. You
may think that I am silly, but I can die as well as another. — I have done no harm, have I?
Mrs. Rudge: None before Heaven.
Barnaby: Why then, let them do their worst. You told me once when I asked you what death meant, that it
was nothing to be feared, if we did no harm — (laughing merrily) Aha! mother, you thought I had forgotten
that!
Mrs. Rudge: (drawing him closer to her) Let us talk in whispers, my love, and be very quiet; it’s getting
dark and our time is short. I will soon have to leave you for the night.
Barnaby: You will come tomorrow?
Mrs. Rudge: Yes. And every day. And we will never part again.
Barnaby: Mother, when I spoke to you earlier about my father you cried Hush! and turned away your head.
Why? You thought HE was dead. You are not sorry that he is alive and has come back to us…
Mrs. Rudge: Do not speak about him.
Barnaby: Why not? Because he is a stern man, and talks roughly?
Mrs. Rudge: Because I am sorry that he is alive; sorry that he has come back. Because, dear Barnaby, the
endeavor of my life has been to keep you two asunder.
Barnaby: Father and son asunder! Why?
Mrs. Rudge: (whispering) He has --- he has shed blood. The time has come when you must know it. He has
shed the blood of one who loved him well, and trusted him, and never did him wrong in word or deed.
(Barnaby recoils in horror.) But, although we shun him, he is your father, dearest, and I am his wretched
wife. They seek his life, and he will lose it. It must not be by our means; nay, if we could win him back to
penitence, we should be bound to love him yet. Do not seem to know him, and if they question you about
him, do not answer them. (Dennis appears at the door, to escort her out of the prison.) God be with you
through the night, dear boy! God be with you!
Narration: She tore herself away, and in a few seconds Barnaby was alone. He stood for a long time rooted
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 55
to the spot, with his face hidden in his hands; then flung himself, sobbing, on his miserable bed. As his
mother crossed a yard on her way out, she saw, through a grated door which separated it from another court,
her husband, walking round and round, with his hands folded on his breast, and his head hung down.
Mrs. Rudge: Mr. Dennis, might speak a word with this prisoner? I know him.
Dennis: Yes --- but you must be quick for I’m locking up for the night, and there’s but a minute or so to
spare. I’ll be but down the hall here, if he troubles you. Do not go too near the bars, Mrs. Rudge, for your
own safety. (He exits.)
Rudge: Am I to live or die? Do you murder too, or spare?
Mrs. Rudge: My son — our son is in this prison.
Rudge: (stamping impatiently) What is that to me? --- I know it. He can no more aid me than I can aid him.
If you are come to talk of him, begone! Am I to live or die? Do you repent?
Mrs. Rudge: Oh! — do YOU? Will you, while time remains? Do not believe that I could save you, if I
dared.
Rudge: Say if you would, damn you Say if you would.
Mrs. Rudge: Listen to me for one moment. I am but newly risen from a sick–bed, from which I never
hoped to rise again. The best among us think, at such a time, of good intentions half–performed and duties
left undone.
Rudge: (roughly) What is the meaning of your canting words? Speak so that I may understand you.
Mrs. Rudge: I will --- I desire to. Bear with me for a moment more. The hand of Him who set His curse on
murder, is heavy on us now. You cannot doubt it. Our son, our innocent boy, is in this place in peril of his
life — brought here by your guilt; yes, by that alone, Heaven knows, for he has been led astray in the
darkness of his intellect, and that is the terrible consequence of your crime.
Rudge: If you come, woman–like, to load me with reproaches —
Mrs. Rudge: I do not. I have a different purpose. You must hear it. Husband, escape is hopeless —
impossible.
Rudge: (shaking his manacled hand) You tell me so, do you? You!
Mrs. Rudge: (earnestly) Yes --- But why?
Rudge: To make me easy in this jail. (grinding his teeth, and smiling with a livid face) To make the time
‘twixt this and death, pass pleasantly. For my good — yes, for my good, of course.
Mrs. Rudge: Not to aggravate the tortures and miseries of your condition, not to give you one hard word,
but to restore you to peace and hope. Husband, dear husband, if you will but confess this dreadful crime; if
you will but implore forgiveness of Heaven and of those whom you have wronged on earth, I promise you,
in the great name of the Creator that He will comfort and console you. And for myself (clasping her hands,
and looking upward), I swear before Him that from that hour I will love and cherish you as I did of old, and
watch you night and day in the short interval that will remain to us, and soothe you with my truest love and
duty, and pray with you that our boy may be spared to bless God, in his poor way, in the free air and light!
He gazes at her as she pours out these words, as though he is for a moment awed by her manner, and knows
not what to do. But anger and fear soon get the mastery of him.
Rudge: Begone! Leave me! You plot, do you! You plot to get speech with me, and let them know I am the
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 56
man they say I am. A curse on you and on your boy.
Mrs. Rudge: On him the curse has already fallen.
Rudge: Let it fall heavier. Let it fall on one and all. I hate you both. The worst has come to me. The only
comfort that I seek or I can have, will be the knowledge that it comes to you. Now go! I say go — I say it for
the last time. The gallows has me in its grasp, and it is a black phantom that may urge me on to something
more. Begone! I curse the hour that I was born, the man I slew, and all the living world!
He rushes from her into the darkness of his cell, and he casts himself jangling down upon the floor, and
smites it with his ironed hands. Dennis returns to lead her away.
Act Nine, Scene Three - One month later. The bedchamber of Sir John Chester.
Sir John is breakfasting in bed. His chocolate and toast stand upon a little table at his elbow; books and
newspapers lay ready to his hand, upon the coverlet; and he reads the news luxuriously.
Chester: And my friend the centaur, goes the way of his mamma! I am not surprised. And my old postman,
the exceedingly free–and–easy young madman of Chigwell! I am quite rejoiced. It’s the very best thing that
could possibly happen to him. (dallying lazily with the teaspoon) These insane creatures make such very
odd and embarrassing remarks, that they really ought to be hanged for the comfort of society. (there is a
knock at the door) — Peak, I am not at home, of course, to anybody but the hairdresser. (But Peak is
pushed into the room, protesting, as Gabriel Varden attempts to get past him.)
Chester: My good fellow, how come you to intrude yourself in this extraordinary manner upon the privacy
of a gentleman? How can you be so wholly destitute of self–respect as to be guilty of such remarkable ill–
breeding?
Gabriel: My business, Sir John, is not of a common kind, I do assure you... If I have taken any uncommon
course to get admission to you, I hope I shall be pardoned on that account.
Chester: (his prepossessing smile restored) Well! we shall see; we shall see... I am sure we have met
before, but really I forget your name?
Gabriel: My name is Gabriel Varden, sir.
Chester: (tapping his forehead) Varden, of course, Varden. Dear me, how very defective my memory
becomes! Varden to be sure — Mr. Varden the locksmith. And what can I do for you?
Gabriel: I thank you, Sir John, but I have come to ask no favor of you, though I come on business. —
Private (with a glance at Peak) and very pressing business.
Chester: Oblige me with some more chocolate, Peak, and don’t wait. (Peak exits.) Mr. Varden, I beg you’ll
take a chair.
Gabriel: (who bows in acknowledgment of the invitation to sit, but remains standing) Sir John... Sir John,
(cropping his voice and coming nearer the bed) I am just now come from Newgate—
Chester: (hastily sitting up) Good Gad! From Newgate, Mr. Varden! Where there are jail–fevers, and
ragged people, and bare–footed men and women, and a thousand horrors! (Peak has entered with the hot
chocolate.) Peak, bring the camphor, quick! Heaven and earth, Mr. Varden, my dear, good soul, how
COULD you come from Newgate? (Peak runs to a drawer, returns with a bottle, and sprinkles Chester’s
bed and dressing-gown; he then sprinkles Varden, shakes a circle of the liquid around Varden, and exits.)
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 57
Gabriel: The case is urgent. I am sent here.
Chester: (laughing and setting down his cup) And my good, credulous, open–hearted friend — by whom?
Gabriel: By a man called Dennis, now the head jailer at the prison --- for many years previously the
hangman.
Chester: And what does the gentleman require of me? I don’t recollect that I ever had the pleasure of an
introduction to him.
Gabriel: You may have seen in the newspapers, sir, that I was a witness against some rioters in a trial some
days since. This Dennis saw me as their prisoner the night the mob attacked Newgate.
Chester: MAY have seen in the newspapers! My dear Mr. Varden, you are quite a public character, and
live in all men’s thoughts most deservedly.
Gabriel: (taking no notice of these compliments) Early this morning, sir, a message was brought to me from
Newgate, at this man’s request, desiring that I would go and see him, for he had something particular to
communicate. (Chester fans himself gently with his paper.) I complied with his request. (looking steadily at
the knight) He said that he had sent to me, because he believed, from the way in which I had given my
evidence, that I was an honest man, and would act truly by him.
Chester: (with a slight yawn) Very discreet of Mr. Dennis... But not very interesting to me.
Gabriel: (quite unabashed and wholly regardless of these interruptions) At the jail, he found that one of his
condemned prisoners was a young man, Hugh by name, a leader in the riots. From some words which fell
from this unhappy creature in the course of his imprisonment, Dennis discovered that Hugh’s mother had
suffered the death to which he is now condemned. — The time is very short, Sir John. (Chester lays down
his paper fan, replaces his cup on the table, and smiles with a steady look at Varden.) He has been in prison
now, a month. One conversation led to many more; and the hangman soon found, from a comparison of
time, and place, and dates, that he had executed the sentence of the law upon this woman, himself. She had
been tempted by want — as so many people are — into the easy crime of passing forged notes. She was
young and handsome; and the traders who employ men, women, and children in this traffic, looked upon
her as one who would probably go on without suspicion for a long time. But she was stopped in the
commission of her very first offence, and died for it. She was of gipsy blood, Sir John (Chester turns deadly
pale but still meets the locksmith’s eye), and had a high, free spirit. Efforts were made to save her. They
might have been successful, if she would have given them any clue to her history. But she never would, or
did. (Chester reaches for his cup, but the next words stop him.) — Until she had but a minute to live. Then
she broke silence, and said, in a low firm voice which no one heard but this executioner, “If I had a dagger
within these fingers and he was within my reach, I would strike him dead before me, even now!” Dennis
asked “Who?” She said, “The father of my boy.” (Sir John draws back his outstretched hand, and seeing
that the locksmith has paused, signs to him with easy politeness and without any new appearance of
emotion to proceed.) “Was the child alive?” he asked. Yes. Dennis asked her where it was, its name, and
whether she had any wish respecting it. She had but one, she said. It was that the boy might live and grow,
in utter ignorance of his father, so that no arts might teach him to be gentle and forgiving. When he became
a man, she trusted to the God of their tribe to bring the father and the son together, and revenge her through
her child.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 58
Chester: My dear Mr. Varden! What has this tale to do with me?
Gabriel: Sir John, Sir John, at twelve tomorrow, this young man Hugh will die. Hear the few words I have
to add, and do not hope to deceive me; I KNOW that you anticipate the disclosure with which I am about to
end, and that you believe this doomed man, Hugh, to be your son.
Chester: (Chester finishes his chocolate and carefully wipes his lips with a handkerchief.) And to what,
my dear, good–natured, estimable Mr. Varden — with whom I cannot be angry if I would — to what does
all this tend?
Gabriel: I take you for a man, Sir John, and I suppose it tends to some pleading of natural affection in your
breast. I suppose to the straining of every nerve, and the exertion of all the influence you have, or can make,
in behalf of your miserable son. At the worst, I suppose to your seeing your son, and awakening him to a
sense of his crime and danger. He has no such sense now. Think what his life must have been, when he said
in my hearing, that if I moved you to anything, it would be to hastening his death, and ensuring his silence,
if you had it in your power!
Chester: (in a tone of mild reproof) And have you, my good Mr. Varden, have you really lived to your
present age, and remained so very simple and credulous, as to approach a gentleman of established
character with such credentials as these, hangmen and ruffians, catching at any straw? Oh dear! Oh fie, fie!
Gabriel: Think better of it, sir, when I am gone — think better of it, sir. Although you have turned your
lawful son, Mr. Edward, from your door, you may have time, you may have years to make your peace with
HIM, Sir John: but that twelve o’clock will soon be here, and soon be past forever.
Chester: (kissing his delicate hand to the locksmith; Peak enters) I thank you very much for your guileless
advice; and I only wish, my good soul, that you had a little more worldly wisdom. I never so much regretted
the arrival of my hairdresser as I do at this moment. God bless you! Good morning! Peak, show Mr. Varden
to the door. (Varden exits. Chester rises from his bed with a heavy sigh and wraps himself in his
morning-gown.) So she spoke my name to her executioner — and was constant to her threat! I would I had
never seen that dark face of hers — I might have read these consequences in it, from the first. This affair
would make a noise abroad, if it rested on better evidence; but, as it is, and by not joining the scattered links
of the chain, I can afford to slight it. — Extremely distressing to be the parent of such an uncouth creature!
Still, I gave him very good advice. I told him he would certainly be hanged. I could have done no more if I
had known of our relationship. — The hairdresser may come in, Peak!
Narration: As the locksmith walked slowly away from Sir John Chester’s chambers, the clock struck
twelve. It was a solemn sound, and not merely for its reference to tomorrow; for he knew that in that chime
the murderer’s knell was rung. Mary Rudge’s husband, father to Barnaby. (Rudge’s hanging, witnessed by
Haredale, occurs as it is described, on another part of the stage.) He had seen him pass along the crowded
street, amidst the execration of the throng. He had seen the remorseful, pitiful, desolate creature, riding to
the gibbet. He knew that, to the last, he had been an unyielding, obdurate man; that in the savage terror of
his condition he had hardened, rather than relented, to his wife and child; and that the last words which had
passed his white lips were curses on them as his enemies. Mr. Haredale had determined to be there, and see
it done. Nothing but the evidence of his own senses could satisfy that gloomy thirst for retribution which
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 59
had been gathering upon him for so many years. The locksmith knew this, and when the chimes had ceased
to vibrate, hurried away to meet him.
Gabriel: For these two men, I can do no more. Heaven have mercy on them! Mary Rudge will have a home,
and a firm friend when she most wants one; but Barnaby — poor Barnaby — what aid can I render him?
There are many, many men of sense, God forgive me, I could better afford to lose than Barnaby. We have
always been good friends, but I never knew, till now, how much I loved the lad.
Act Nine, Scene Four – Newgate Prison.
Narration: Barnaby was to die. There was no hope. They had tried to save him. The locksmith had carried
petitions and memorials to the fountain–head, with his own hands. But the well was not one of mercy, and
Barnaby was to die. From the first his mother had never left him, save at night; and with her beside him, he
was as usual contented. On this last day, he was more elated and more proud than he had been yet; and when
she dropped the book she had been reading to him aloud, and fell upon his neck, he wondered at her
anguish. Grip uttered a feeble croak, half in encouragement, it seemed, and half in remonstrance, but he
wanted heart to sustain it, and lapsed abruptly into silence. It was morning but now; they had sat and
talked together in a dream; and here was evening. The dreadful hour of separation, which even yesterday
had seemed so distant, was at hand. They walked out into the courtyard, clinging to each other, but not
speaking. Barnaby knew that the jail was a dull, sad, miserable place, and looked forward to tomorrow, as to
a passage from it to something bright and beautiful. He had a vague impression too, that he was expected to
be brave — that he was a man of great consequence, and that the prison people would be glad to make him
weep. He trod the ground more firmly as he thought of this, and bade her
Barnaby: Take heart, Mother, and cry no more, and feel how steady my hand is… They call me silly,
Mother, but they shall see tomorrow!
Hugh comes in the courtyard, attended by a guard. Hugh stretches himself as though he had been sleeping.
The mother and son remain on one side of the court, and Hugh upon the other. He strides up and down,
glancing fiercely every now and then at the bright summer sky, and then looking round at the walls.
Mrs. Rudge: (as the clock strikes) Fetch me the book I left within — upon your bed Kiss me first.
He looks in her face, and sees there, that the time was come. After a long embrace, he tears himself away,
and runs to bring it to her; bidding her not stir till he came back. He soon returns, for a shriek recalls him
— but she is gone. He runs to the yard–gate, and looks through. They are carrying her away. She had said
her heart would break. It was better so.
Dennis: Now then, it’s time to turn in, boys.
Hugh: Ha ha ha! Courage, bold Barnaby, what care we? Your hand! They do well to put us out of the
world, for if we got loose a second time, we wouldn’t let them off so easy, eh? Another shake! A man can
die but once. If you wake in the night, sing that out lustily, and fall asleep again. Ha ha ha!
Narration: Barnaby glanced once more through the grate into the empty yard; and then watched Hugh as
he strode to the steps leading to his sleeping–cell. He heard him shout, and burst into a roar of laughter, and
saw him flourish his hat. Then he turned away himself, like one who walked in his sleep; and, without any
sense of fear or sorrow, lay down on his pallet, listening for the clock to strike again.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 60
Meanwhile the noise of saw and mallet went on briskly. Gradually, a faint brightness appeared in the east,
and the air, which had been very warm all through the night, felt cool and chilly. And now, the sun’s first
beams came glancing into the street; and the night’s work, which, in its various stages and in the varied
fancies of the lookers–on had taken a hundred shapes, wore its own proper form—a scaffold, and a gibbet.
One rioter was to die before the prison, who had been concerned in the attack upon it; and one directly
afterwards in Bloomsbury Square. At nine o’clock, a strong body of military marched into the street, and
formed and lined a narrow passage into Holborn. Through this, another cart was brought and wheeled up to
the prison–gate. Such of the onlookers, as were better informed upon the topic than the rest, would tell their
neighbors, perhaps, that one man was named Hugh: and that it was Barnaby Rudge who would be hanged in
Bloomsbury Square.
The prison–bell began to toll. Then the roar — mingled now with cries of ‘Hats off!’ and ‘Poor fellows!’
and, from some specks in the great concourse, with a shriek or groan — burst forth again. It was terrible to
see — if anyone in that distraction of excitement could have seen — the world of eager eyes, all strained
upon the scaffold and the beam. The hollow murmuring was heard within the jail as plainly as without.
The two were brought forth into the yard, together, as it resounded through the air. They knew its import
well.
Hugh: (undaunted by the sound) D’ye hear? They expect us! I heard them gathering when I woke in the
night, and turned over on t’other side and fell asleep again. Ha, ha, ha!
Dennis: (shaking his head) I fear that you are incorrigible.
Hugh: (sternly) You’re right. I am! What cheer, Barnaby? Don’t be downcast, lad.
Barnaby: (stepping lightly towards Hugh) Bless you --- I’m not frightened, Hugh. I’m quite happy. I
wouldn’t desire to live now, if they’d let me. Look at me! Am I afraid to die? Will they see ME tremble?
Hugh gazes for a moment at his face, on which there is a strange, unearthly smile; and at his eye, which
sparkles brightly. At this moment the clock strikes the first stroke of twelve, and the bell begins to toll. The
various officers move towards the door.
Dennis: (to Hugh) All’s ready when the last chime is heard. Do you have anything to say?
Hugh: To say! Not I. I’m ready. — (his eye falls upon Barnaby) Yes I have a word to say, too. Come
hither, lad. (There is something kind, and even tender, struggling in his fierce aspect, as he wrings his poor
companion by the hand.) (looking firmly round) I’ll say this --- that if I had ten lives to lose, and the loss of
each would give me ten times the agony of the hardest death, I’d lay them all down — ay, I would — to save
this one. This one (wringing Barnaby’s hand again) that will be lost through me.
Barnaby: (mildly) Not through you --- Don’t say that. You were not to blame. You have always been very
good to me. — Hugh, we shall know what makes the stars shine, NOW!
Hugh: I took him from her in a reckless mood, and didn’t think what harm would come of it (laying his
hand upon his head, and speaking in a lower voice) I ask her pardon; and his. — Look here (roughly, in his
former tone) --- you see this lad? (pointing to Dennis) That gentleman yonder has often in the last few days
spoken to me of faith, and strong belief. You see what I am — more brute than man, as I have been often
told — but I had faith enough to believe, and did believe as strongly as any of you gentlemen can believe
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 61
anything, that this one life would be spared. See what he is! — Look at him!
Barnaby has moved towards the door, and stands beckoning Hugh to follow.
Hugh: (raising his right arm aloft, looking like a savage prophet) If this was not faith, and strong belief! --Where are they! What else should teach me — me, born as I was born, and reared as I have been reared —
to hope for any mercy in this hardened, cruel, unrelenting place! Upon these human shambles, I, who never
raised this hand in prayer till now, call down the wrath of God! On that black tree, of which I am the ripened
fruit, I do invoke the curse of all its victims, past, and present, and to come. On the head of that man, who, in
his conscience, owns me for his son, I leave the wish that he may never sicken on his bed of down, but die a
violent death as I do now, and have the night–wind for his only mourner. To this I say, Amen, amen!
Dennis: There is nothing more?
Hugh: (motioning Barnaby not to come near him) There is nothing more.
Dennis: Move forward! (Hugh exits, with a careless air.)
Narration: Barnaby would have mounted the steps at the same time — indeed he would have gone before
Hugh, but in both attempts he was restrained, as he was to undergo the sentence elsewhere.
Act Nine, Scene Five - The Black Lion
Narration: On this same day, and about this very hour, Mr. Willet the elder sat smoking his pipe in a
chamber at the Black Lion. Although it was hot summer weather, Mr. Willet sat close to the fire. Then he
laid down his pipe, rubbed his hands, and chuckled audibly.
Joe: (entering) Why, father! You’re in spirits today!
Willet: (chuckling again) It’s nothing partickler It’s nothing at all partickler, Joseph. Tell me something
about the Salwanners.
Joe: What shall I tell you, father? (laying his hand upon his sire’s shoulder, and looking down into his face)
That I have come back, poorer than a church mouse? You know that. That I have come back, maimed and
crippled? You know that.
Willet: (muttering, his eyes on the fire) It was took off at the defense of the Salwanners, in America, where
the war is.
Joe: (smiling and leaning on the back of his father’s chair) Quite right. The very subject I came to speak to
you about. A man with one arm, father, is not of much use in the busy world. At all events, he can’t pick and
choose his means of earning a livelihood, as another man may. (Dolly appears at the doorway --- but hides
herself, to overhear the following.) — Now look here, father. — Mr. Edward has come to England from the
West Indies. When he was lost sight of (I ran away on the same day, father), he made a voyage to one of the
islands — and in short, got on well, and is prospering, and has come over here on business of his own, and
is going back again speedily. Our returning nearly at the same time, and meeting in the course of the late
troubles, has been a good thing every way; for it has not only enabled us to do old friends some service, but
has opened a path in life for me which I may tread without being a burden upon you. To be plain, father, he
can employ me; I have satisfied myself that I can be of real use to him; and I am going to carry my one arm
away with him, and to make the most of it.
Dolly runs into the room, in tears, throws herself on Joe’s breast without a word of explanation, and clasps
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 62
her white arms round his neck.
Joe: Dolly! Dolly!
Dolly: Ay, call me that; call me that always Never speak coldly to me, never be distant, never again
reprove me for the follies I have long repented, or I shall die, Joe.
Joe: I reprove you!
Dolly: Yes — for every kind and honest word you uttered, went to my heart. For you, who have borne so
much from me — for you, who owe your sufferings and pain to my caprice — for you to be so kind — so
noble to me, Joe — (sobbing and clinging close to him) If you had reminded me by a word — only by one
short word, how little I deserved that you should treat me with so much forbearance; if you had exulted only
for one moment in your triumph, I could have borne it better.
Joe: (smiling) Triumph!
Dolly: Yes, triumph --- for it is one. I am glad to think and know it is. Dear Joe, I always loved you — in
my own heart I always did, although I was so vain and giddy. I hoped you would come back that night, the
night you left. I made quite sure you would. I prayed for it on my knees. Through all these long, long years,
I have never once forgotten you, or left off hoping that this happy time might come. (Joe says nothing, but
holds and kisses her.) And now, at last, (trembling with the fervor of her speech) if you were sick, and
shattered in your every limb; if you were ailing, weak, and sorrowful; if, instead of being what you are, you
were in everybody’s eyes but mine the wreck and ruin of a man; I would be your wife, dear love, with
greater pride and joy, than if you were the stateliest lord in England!
Joe: What have I done to meet with this reward?
Dolly: You have taught me (raising her pretty face to his) to know myself, and your worth; to be something
better than I was; to be more deserving of your true and manly nature. In years to come, dear Joe, I will be,
when we have grown old and weary, your patient, gentle, never–tiring wife. I will never know a wish or
care beyond our home and you, and I will always study how to please you with my best affection and my
most devoted love. I will: indeed I will! (Joe kisses her again.) They know of this, at home. For your sake,
I would leave even them; but they know it, and are glad of it, and are as proud of you as I am, and as full of
gratitude.
Joe: Father, (presenting Dolly) you know who this is?
Mr. Willet looks at her, then at his son, then back again at Dolly, and then makes an ineffectual effort to
extract a whiff from his pipe, which has gone out long ago.
Joe: Say a word, father, if it’s only how d’ye do.
Willet: Certainly, Joseph. Oh yes! Why not?
Joe: To be sure... Why not?
Willet: (in a low voice as though he were discussing some grave question with himself) Ah! Why not?
(suddenly bursting in to a very loud, short laugh) Certainly, Joseph. Oh yes! Why not?
He abruptly exits, as the scene fades.
Act Nine, Scene Six - The Golden Key.
Haredale, Emma, and Edward enter.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 63
Haredale: Varden brought the mother here last evening, he told me?
Emma: She is above–stairs now — in the room over here. Her grief is past all telling.
Haredale: Varden is out?
Edward: He returned with your messenger, who arrived almost at the moment of his coming home himself.
He was out the whole night — but that of course you know. He was with you the greater part of it?
Haredale: He was. Without him, I should have lacked my right hand. He is an older man than I; but nothing
can conquer him.
Emma: The cheeriest, stoutest–hearted fellow in the world.
Haredale: He has a right to be. He has a right to be. A better creature never lived. He reaps what he has
sown — no more.
Edward: It is not all men who have the happiness to do that.
Haredale: Sir, you still love my niece, and she is still attached to you.
Edward: I have that assurance from her own lips --- and you know that I would not exchange it for any
blessing life could yield me.
Haredale; You are frank, honorable, and disinterested. You have forced the conviction that you are so,
even on my once–jaundiced mind, and I believe you. On that first and only time (looking from the one to the
other) when we three stood together under her father’s roof, I told you to quit it, and charged you never to
return. You own a name I had deep reason to remember. I was moved and goaded by recollections of
personal wrong and injury, I know, but, even now I cannot charge myself with having, then, or ever, lost
sight of a heartfelt desire for her true happiness; or with having acted — however much I was mistaken —
with any other impulse than the one pure, single, earnest wish to be to her, as far as in my inferior nature lay,
the father she had lost.
Emma: Dear uncle, I have known no parent but you. I have loved the memory of others, but I have loved
you all my life. Never was father kinder to his child than you have been to me.
Haredale: Edward, I have done you wrong, sir, and I ask your forgiveness. I acknowledge to you both that
the time has been when I connived at treachery and falsehood — which if I did not perpetrate myself, I still
permitted — to rend you two asunder.
Edward: You judge yourself too harshly. Let these things rest.
Emma: You bear a blessing from us both. Never mingle thoughts of me with anything but undying
affection and gratitude for the past, and bright hopes for the future.
Haredale: (with a melancholy smile) The future is a bright word for you, and its image should be wreathed
with cheerful hopes. Mine is of another kind. When you quit England I shall leave it too. There are cloisters
abroad; and now that the two great objects of my life are set at rest, I know no better home. (to Edward) In
goods and fortune you are now nearly equal. I have been her faithful steward, and to that remnant of a richer
property which my brother left her, I desire to add, in token of my love, a poor pittance, scarcely worth the
mention, for which I have no longer any need. I am glad you go abroad. Let our ill–fated house remain the
ruin it is. When you return, after a few thriving years, you will command a better, and a more fortunate one.
We are friends? (Edward takes his extended hand, and grasps it heartily.) When I look upon you now, and
know you, I feel that I would choose you for her husband. Her father had a generous nature, and you would
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 64
have pleased him well. I give her to you in his name, and with his blessing. If the world and I part in this act,
we part on happier terms than we have lived for many a day.
There is suddenly a great noise at a distance --- a loud shouting, mingled with boisterous acclamations. It
draws nearer every moment, and bursts into a deafening confusion of sounds at the street corner.
Haredale: This must be stopped — quieted We should have foreseen this, and provided against it. I will
go out to them at once.
But he is stopped by a loud shriek from above–stairs: and the locksmith’s wife, bursting in, and fairly
running into Mr. Haredale’s arms, cries out:
Mrs. Varden: She knows it all, dear sir! — she knows it all! We broke it out to her by degrees, and she is
quite prepared.
Suddenly Gabriel appears in the doorway, Barnaby clinging to him. Mrs. Rudge rushes in to the room, and
son and mother are quickly in one another’s arms.
Gabriel: (panting, to Haredale) Such is the blessed end, sir, of the best day’s work we ever did. That
crowd! The rogues! it’s been hard fighting to get away from ‘em. I almost thought, once or twice, they’d
have been too much for us with their kindness! (taking out an official document) There it is, sir --- the free
pardon to Barnaby Rudge, made out and signed, and entrusted to a horse–soldier for instant conveyance to
the place of execution. And that courier reached the spot just as the cart appeared in sight; and so I have
brought him home, in triumph. I needn’t say that, except among ourselves, I didn’t want to make a triumph
of it. But, directly we got into the street we were known, and this hubbub began. Of the two, and after
experience of both, I think I’d rather be taken out of my house by a crowd of enemies, than escorted home
by a mob of friends!
Act Nine, Scene Seven - A graveyard by a church. Hugh’s graveside.
Narration: The scene was a churchyard; the time, midnight; the persons, Edward Chester, Emma Haredale,
a clergyman. They stood about a grave which had been newly dug; a dim lantern shed its feeble ray upon the
book of prayer. There was no inscription on the lid of the coffin. The mold fell solemnly upon the last
house of this nameless man; and the rattling dust left a dismal echo in the ears of those who had
accompanied it to its resting–place. The grave was filled in to the top, and trodden down. They all left the
spot together.
Emma: You never saw him, living?
Edward: Often, years ago; not knowing him for my brother.
Emma: Never since?
Edward: Never. Yesterday, he steadily refused to see me. It was urged upon him, many times, at my desire.
Emma: Still he refused? That seems hard — unnatural.
Edward: Do you think so?
Emma: You do not?
Edward: We hear the world wonder, every day, at monsters of ingratitude. Did it never occur to you that it
often looks for monsters of affection, as though they were things of course?
Narration: They had reached the gate by this time, and departed the solitary graves.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 65
Act Nine, Scene Eight - The Golden Key.
Narration: One afternoon, the locksmith sat at the tea–table in the little back–parlor: the rosiest, cosiest,
merriest, heartiest, best–contented old buck, in Great Britain or out of it. His wife had decorated the room
with flowers for the greater honor of Dolly and Joseph Willet; in whose youth Mrs V. herself had grown
quite young, in all respects delicious to behold. And when had Dolly ever been the Dolly of that
afternoon? To see how she sat, arm–in–arm with Joe; and how her color came and went in a little restless
flutter of happiness... The recollections, too, with which they made merry over that long protracted tea! The
glee with which the locksmith asked --Gabriel: (gleefully) Joe, do you remember that stormy night at the Maypole, when you first asked after
Dolly? (as Joe and Dolly blush) Or that night when she was going out to the party in the sedan–chair — the
way Mrs. Varden had Miggs shove those flowers you brought outside the window? That was rather
heartless of you, Martha, my dear...
Mrs. Varden: Oh, Varden… I’d known it all along. I’d seen it from the first. I’d always predicted it. I’d
been aware of how they felt about each other long before Joe and Dolly were. I’d said to myself, “That
young Willet is certainly looking after our Dolly, and I must look after HIM.”
As the other three laugh, there’s a startling knock at the door.
Joe: (stopping Gabriel from rising) Now, now, don’t trouble yourself, Mr V. I’ll see who it is…
Joe exits, and is quickly heard laughing offstage.
Gabriel: Well, what is it? eh Joe? What are you laughing at?
Joe: Nothing, sir. It’s coming in.
Gabriel: Who’s coming in? what’s coming in?
At length after much struggling and humping, carrying a large trunk, Miggs appears; and the locksmith
slaps his thigh, elevates his eyebrows, and cries in a loud voice expressive of the utmost consternation:
Gabriel: Damme, if it an’t Miggs come back!
She enters the room, clasps her hands, raises her eyes devotedly to the ceiling, and sheds a flood of tears.
Gabriel: (looking at her in inexpressible desperation) The old story! She was born to be a damper, this
young woman! nothing can prevent it!
Miggs: Ho master, ho mim! Can I constrain my feelings in these here once agin united moments! Ho Mr.
Warsen, here’s blessedness among relations, sir! Here’s forgivenesses of injuries, here’s amicablenesses!
(Gabriel looks from his wife to Dolly, and from Dolly to Joe, and from Joe to Miggs, with his eyebrows still
elevated and his mouth still open. When his eyes got back to Miggs, they rest on her; fascinated.)
Miggs: (with hysterical joy) To think that Mr. Joe, and dear Miss Dolly, has raly come together after all as
has been said and done contrairy! To see them two a–settin’ along with him and her, so pleasant and in all
respects so affable and mild; and me not knowing of it, and not being in the ways to make no preparations
for their teas. Ho what a cutting thing it is, and yet what sweet sensations is awoke within me! And did my
missis think as her own Miggs, which supported her under so many trials, and understood her natur’ when
them as intended well but acted rough, went so deep into her feelings — did she think as her own Miggs
would ever leave her? Did she think as Miggs, though she was but a servant, would forgit that she was the
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 66
humble instruments as always made it comfortable between them two when they fell out, and always told
master of the meekness and forgiveness of her blessed dispositions! Did she think as Miggs had no
attachments! Did she think that wages was her only object!
Gabriel: (to his wife) My dear, do you desire this?
Mrs. Varden: I desire it! --- I am astonished — I am amazed — at her audacity. Let her leave the house this
moment.
Miggs, hearing this, let her end of the box fall heavily to the floor, gives a very loud sniff, crosses her arms,
screws down the corners of her mouth, and cries, in an ascending scale --Miggs: Ho, good gracious! Ho, good gracious! Ho, good gracious!
Gabriel: You hear what your mistress says, my love You had better go, I think. Stay; take this with you,
for the sake of old service.
Miss Miggs clutches the bank–note he takes from his pocket–book and holds out to her; and, tossing her
head, she looks at Mrs Varden.
Miggs: Ho, good gracious!
Gabriel: I think you said that once before, my dear
Miggs: (bridling) Times is changed, is they, mim! --- You can spare me now, can you? You can keep ‘em
down without me? You’re not in wants of any one to scold, or throw the blame upon, no longer, an’t you,
mim? I’m glad to find you’ve grown so independent. I wish you joy, I’m sure! (curtseys to Mrs. Varden)
I’m quite delighted, I’m sure, to find sich independency, feeling sorry though, at the same time, mim — he
he he! It must be great vexations, ‘specially considering how ill you always spoke of Mr. Joe — to have him
for a son–in–law at last; and I wonder Miss Dolly can put up with him, either, after being off and on for so
many years with a coachmaker. (she pauses for a reply which doesn’t come) I’m glad Miss Dolly can
laugh Though there an’t such a great deal to laugh at now either; is there, mim? It an’t so much of a catch,
after looking out so sharp ever since she was a little chit, and costing such a deal in dress and show, to get a
poor, common soldier, with one arm, is it, mim? He he! I wouldn’t have a husband with one arm, anyways.
I would have two arms, if it was me, though instead of hands they’d only got hooks at the end, like our
dustman! (Miss Miggs bursts into a storm of sobs and tears. And exits.)
Gabriel: (good-humoredly wiping his wife’s eyes) It’s a thing to laugh at, Martha, not to care for What
does it matter? You had seen your fault before. Come! Dolly shall sing us a song; and we’ll be all the
merrier for this interruption! (Dolly sings a tune, which possibly serves as the underscoring for the
beginning of the following scene.)
Act Nine, Scene Nine - A month later --- the end of August.
Narration: A month later, at the end of August, Mr. Haredale stood alone on the road leading to the
Warren. He looked much older, and more care–worn. He was now a solitary man, and the heart within him
was dreary and lonesome. The effort he had made to part from Emma with seeming cheerfulness and hope
— and they had parted only yesterday — left him the more depressed. With these feelings, he was about to
look once more upon the walls of their old home, before turning his back upon it, forever. He had a fancy
for paying his last visit to the old spot in the evening, for he had been accustomed to walk there at that
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 67
season, and desired to see it under the aspect that was most familiar to him.
Haredale: The old Maypole will brighten up now --- and there will be a merry fireside beneath its ivied
roof. It is some comfort to know that everything will not be blighted hereabouts. I shall be glad to have one
picture of life and cheerfulness to turn to, in my mind!
Narration: He bent his steps towards the deserted mansion which had been his home so long, and looked
for the last time upon its blackened walls. The ashes of the commonest fire are melancholy things, for in
them there is an image of death and ruin --- of something that has been bright, and is but dull, cold, dreary
dust. He roused himself from a long train of meditation, and walked slowly round the house. It was by this
time almost dark. He had nearly made the circuit of the building, when --- reclining, in an easy attitude,
with his back against a tree, and contemplating the ruin with an expression of pleasure — before him, on his
own ground, stood the man whose presence, of all mankind, in any place, and least of all in that, he could
the least endure.
Chester: What an odd chance it is, that we should meet here!
Haredale: It IS a strange chance.
Chester: The most remarkable and singular thing in the world. I never ride in the evening; I have not done
so for years. The whim seized me, quite unaccountably, in the middle of last night. — How very picturesque
this is! (He points to the dismantled house, and raises his glass to his eye.)
Haredale: You praise your own work very freely. (Sir John lets fall his glass; inclines his face towards
Haredale with an air of the most courteous inquiry; and slightly shakes his head)
Chester: (looking smilingly round) Work! Mine! — I really beg your pardon —
Haredale: Why, you see on every side where fire and smoke have raged. You see the destruction that has
been wanton here. Do you not?
Chester: (gently checking his impatience with his hand) My good friend, of course I do. I am very sorry for
you. But you don’t bear it as well as I had expected. What has your misfortune to do with me?
Haredale: You urged and stimulated to do your work a fit agent, but one who in the very essence of his
being is a traitor, and who has been false to you as he has been to all others. With hints, and looks, and crafty
words, you set on Gashford to this work. You urged him on to gratify the deadly hate he owes me by the
abduction and dishonor of my niece. You did. I see denial in your looks (abruptly pointing in his face, and
stepping back) and denial is a lie! (He has his hand upon his sword.)
Chester: (coldly as before) You will take notice, sir, that I have taken the trouble to deny nothing. Your
discernment is hardly fine enough for the perusal of faces; nor has it ever been, that I remember; or, in one
face that I could name, you would have read indifference, not to say disgust, somewhat sooner than you did.
I speak of a long time ago — but you understand me. I speak of your first love, now my deceased wife.
Haredale: You say you don’t deny. Do you admit?
Chester: You yourself proclaimed the character of the gentleman. Assuming him to be what you described,
and to have made to you any statements that may have happened to suggest themselves to him, for the sake
of his own security, or money — I have nothing to say of Mr. Gashford.
Haredale: Sir John, in your every look, and word, and gesture, you tell me this was not your act. I tell you
that it was, and that you tampered with the man I speak of, and with your wretched son Hugh (whom God
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 68
forgive!) to do this deed. You talk of degradation and character. To you I traced the insinuation that I alone
reaped any harvest from my brother’s death; and all the foul attacks and whispered calumnies that followed
in its train. In every action of my life, you have stood, like an adverse fate, between me and peace. In all,
you have ever been the same cold–blooded, hollow, false, unworthy villain. For the second time, and for the
last, I cast these charges in your teeth!
With that Haredale strikes him on the breast so that Chester staggers. Sir John, the instant he recovers,
draws his sword, and running on his adversary, makes a desperate lunge at his heart; but Haredale parries
the thrust. Chester, as he speaks, repeatedly makes small, goading attacks with his blade to match his
words. But Haredale is struggling with his own anger, and merely defending himself.
Chester: (showing his hatred in his face) For the last time... Be assured it is! Did you believe our last
meeting was forgotten? What kind of man is he who entered, with all his sickening cant of honesty and
truth, into a bond with me to prevent a marriage he affected to dislike, and when I had redeemed my part to
the spirit and the letter, skulked from his? (with a smile) Edward! Poor fool! The dupe of such a shallow
knave — trapped into marriage by such an uncle and by such a niece... But he is no longer a son of mine:
you are welcome to the prize your craft has made, sir. (without the least emotion) Haredale, I have always
despised you, as you know, but I have given you credit for a species of brute courage. For the honor of my
judgment, which I had thought a good one, I am sorry to find you a coward.
Haredale doesn’t speak, but raises his blade. They cross swords, though it is now quite dusk, and attack
each other fiercely. They’re well matched, and each thoroughly skilled in the use of his weapon. After a few
seconds they grow hotter and more furious, and inflict and receive several slight wounds. After receiving
one of these in his arm, Haredale plunges his sword through his opponent’s body to the hilt. Their eyes meet
as Haredale withdraws his blade. He puts his arm about the dying man, who repulses him, feebly, and
drops. Raising himself upon his hands, Chester gazes at him for an instant, with scorn and hatred in his
look; then tries to smile, and faintly moving his right hand, as if to hide his bloody linen in his vest, falls
back dead.
Epilogue
Narration:
Mr. Haredale fled that night. Before pursuit could be begun, indeed before Sir John was
traced or missed, he had left the kingdom. Repairing straight to a religious establishment, known
throughout Europe for the rigor and severity of its discipline, and for the merciless penitence it exacted from
those who sought its shelter as a refuge from the world, he took the vows which thenceforth shut him out
from nature and his kind, and after a few remorseful years was buried in its gloomy cloisters.
Two days elapsed before the body of Sir John was found. As soon as it was recognized and carried
home, Peak, the faithful valet, true to his master’s creed, eloped with all the cash and movables he could lay
his hands on.
Lord George Gordon was solemnly tried at Westminster for High Treason. Of this crime he was,
after a patient investigation, declared Not Guilty; upon the ground that there was no proof of his having
called the multitude together with any traitorous or unlawful intentions. Gashford deserted him, of course.
He procured an appointment in the honorable corps of spies and eavesdroppers employed by the
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 69
government. Ten or a dozen years ago — not more — a meagre, wan old man, diseased and miserably poor,
was found dead in his bed at an obscure inn, where he was quite unknown. He had taken poison.
Mr. Simon Tappertit, being removed from a hospital to his place of trial, was discharged by
proclamation, on two wooden legs. By the locksmith’s advice and aid, he was established in business as a
shoeblack. Indeed his trade increased to that extent, that in course of time he took a wife. With this lady he
lived in great domestic happiness. Occasionally Mr. Tappertit would so far forget himself, as to correct his
lady with a brush, or boot, or shoe; while she (but only in extreme cases) would retaliate by taking off his
legs.
Miss Miggs, baffled in all her schemes, turned very sharp and sour. It chanced that the justices of
the peace for Middlesex stood in need of a female turnkey. Miss Miggs was instantly chosen at once and
promoted to the office; which she held until her decease, more than thirty years afterwards, remaining
single all that time.
Joe Willet and Dolly Varden were made husband and wife, and reopened the Maypole. It was not
very long before there would be seen more small Joes and small Dollys than could be easily counted. And
the grandparents, Gabriel and Martha Varden, became the most joyful example of marriage to be seen in the
British Empire.
Mr. Willet the elder, took up his abode in a small cottage at Chigwell. To this, his new habitation,
Tom Cobb, Phil Parkes, and Solomon Daisy went regularly every night: and in the chimney–corner, they all
four quaffed, and smoked, and prosed, and dozed, as they had done of old.
Barnaby regained his old health and gaiety. His love of freedom and interest in all that moved or
grew, or had its being in the elements, remained to him unimpaired. He lived with his mother on the
Maypole farm, tending the poultry and the cattle, working in a garden of his own, and helping everywhere.
Never was there a creature more popular with young and old, a blither or more happy soul than Barnaby;
and though he was free to ramble where he would, he never quitted her, but was for evermore her stay and
comfort.
When the Riots were many years old, and Edward and his wife came back to England with a family
almost as numerous as Dolly’s, and one day appeared at the Maypole porch, Barnaby knew them instantly,
and wept and leaped for joy.
Grip soon recovered his looks, and became as glossy and sleek as ever. He constantly practiced and
improved himself in the vulgar tongue; and, as he was a mere infant for a raven when Barnaby was grey, he
has very probably gone on talking to the present time.
THE END
Scene Breakdown
Act One – 18 Scenes
Act One, Scene One (pg. 2) - March 19, 1780. Winter. Evening. The Maypole. Willet, Cobb and Parkes sit by the fire. Daisy
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 70
enters, tells them of the Ghost.
Act One, Scene Two (pg. 4) - The same evening. The Maypole, then the Warren. Willet and Hugh travel to tell Haredale of the
Ghost.
Act Two, Scene One (pg. 5) - The next morning. March 20, 1780. Lord Gordon’s London lodgings. Hugh signs up with the
Protestant Association. Gashford is introduced.
Act Two, Scene Two (pg. 6) - London. The Boot Tavern. Hugh is recruited by Sim.
Act Two, Scene Three (pg. 7) -. Sir John Chester’s chambers. That same night. Hugh reports to Chester. There is talk of
revenge on Haredale.
Act Three, Scene One (pg. 9) - The Golden Key. Gabriel dresses for militia duty. The family talks of Joe Willet and the Great
Protestant Association.
Act Three, Scene Two (pg. 11) - En route to the deserted Rudge house. Gabriel talks with Haredale about the missing Mrs.
Rudge and Barnaby. Haredale apprehends the Stranger.
Act Four, Scene One (pg. 12) - A small English country town. The home of Mrs. Rudge and Barnaby. Stagg appears, demanding
money.
Act Four, Scene Two (pg. 16) - Haredale meets Gashford and Chester in London. Round the Houses of Parliament. And in
Westminster Hall.
Act Five, Scene One (pg. 18) - Barnaby and his mother en route to London. Barnaby is pulled into the riot.
Act Five, Scene Two (pg. 21) - That same day. The mob gathers in front of Westminster and Barnaby is arrested.
Act Five, Scene Three (pg. 22) - The Boot Tavern. Following the riot. Gashford and Chester drive Hugh and Sim to more
violence.
Act Five, Scene Four (pg. 24) - Newgate prison. Rudge tells Stagg of the Haredale murder.
Act Five, Scene Five (pg. 26) - The Golden Key. 1 a.m. The family awaits Sim’s return.
Act Six, Scene One (pg. 29) - The Boot Tavern. Gashford incites Hugh’s revenge on Haredale.
Act Six, Scene Two (pg. 30) – The Maypole. Cobbs, Parkes, and Daisy tell Willet they intend to investigate the riots in London.
They leave and Hugh, Sim, and the Bulldogs demolish the Maypole.
Act Six, Scene Three (pg. 31) – On the road to London. Parkes, Cobbs, and Daisy meet Haredale at a tollgate; they ride back to
the Maypole.
Act Six, Scene Four (pg. 32) – The Maypole. Willet is untied. Haredale leaves to investigate the fire, finding only the ruins of
the Warren.
INTERMISSION
Act Two – 19 Scenes
Act Seven, Scene One (pg. 33) - Newgate Prison. A sergeant and Tom Green discuss Barnaby’s case, outside his cell. Grip is
returned to Barnaby.
Act Seven, Scene Two (pg. 34) – The Boot Tavern. Sim and Hugh bring Emma and Dolly to the hideout.
Act Seven, Scene Two A (pg. 39) – The courtyard of Newgate Prison. Barnaby meets his father.
Act Seven, Scene Three (pg. 37) – The Boot Tavern. Hugh and the Bulldogs decide to attack Newgate.
Act Seven, Scene Four (pg. 38) – The Golden Key. The rioters kidnap Gabriel.
Act Seven, Scene Five (pg. 41) – Edward and Joe reveal themselves to Haredale.
Act Eight, Scene One (pg. 44) – Newgate Prison gate. Gabriel is saved by Edward and Joe; Stagg is killed, Sim’s legs broken,
Hugh captured.
Act Eight, Scene Two (pg. 47) – The Boot. Dolly, Emma, and Miggs are rescued.
Act Eight, Scene Three (pg. 50) - Newgate Prison. Hugh joins Barnaby and Rudge.
Act Nine, Scene One (pg. 53) – The Black Lion. A celebration supper. Joe and Dolly talk.
Act Nine, Scene Two (pg. 54) – Newgate Prison. Barnaby is visited by his mother, who then speaks to her husband.
Act Nine, Scene Three (pg. 57) – Chester’s lodgings. Varden reveals Hugh’s identity to Chester. Rudge is hung.
Act Nine, Scene Four (pg. 59) – Newgate Prison. Hugh is taken to be hanged.
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 71
Act Nine, Scene Five (pg. 60) – The Black Lion. Dolly and Joe agree to marry.
Act Nine, Scene Six (pg. 62) – The Golden Key. Haredale blesses Edward and Emma. Barnaby is saved.
Act Nine, Scene Seven (pg. 64) - Hugh’s grave.
Act Nine, Scene Eight (pg. 65) - The Golden Key. Miggs interrupts a happy dinner.
Act Nine, Scene Nine (pg. 64) - The duel at the Warren grounds.
Epilogue (pg. 68)
Law Dunford (15 Scenes)
6 Scenes: Willet – 1.1, 1.2, 6.2, 6.4, 9.1, 9.5
1 Scene: Wagon Driver – 5.1
1 Scene: General Conway – 5.2
7 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 4.2, 5.1, 5.3, 7.4
Nicole Tompkins (20 Scenes)
5 Scenes: Emma – 1.2, 7.2, 8.3, 9.5, 9.7
4 Scenes: Cobb – 1.1, 6.2, 6.3, 6.4
7 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, 5.3, 6.2, 7.4
4 Scenes: Grip – 4.1, 5.1 (silent, in basket), 5.2 (in basket), 7.1
Cyndii Johnson (13 Scenes)
4 Scenes: Parkes – 1.1, 6.2, 6.3, 6.4
5 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, 5.3
4 Scenes: Stagg – 4.1, 5.4, 7.4, 7.5
Chelsey Cavender (11 Scenes)
4 Scenes: Daisy – 1.1, 6.2, 6.3, 6.4
7 Scenes: Gashford – 2.1, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, 5.3, 6.1, 8.3
1 Scene: Bulldog – 7.4
Zach Schute (12 Scenes)
4 Scenes: Stranger – 1.1 (Flashback), 3.2 (Understudy), 5.4, 8.2, 9.2
8 Scenes: Haredale – 1.2, 3.2, 4.2, 6.3, 6.4, 8.1, 9.6, 9.9
Ben Miller (18 Scenes)
15 Scenes: Hugh – 1.2, 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 5.1, 5.2, 5.3, 6.1, 6.2, 7.2, 7.4, 7.5, 8.2, 9.4
4 Scenes: Edward – 4.2, 8.1, 8.3, 9.5, 9.7
Cameron Blankenship (10 Scenes)
10 Scenes: Sim – 2.2, 5.1, 5.2, 5.3, 5.5, 6.1 (asleep), 6.2, 7.2, 7.4, 7.5
Justin King (12 Scenes)
5 Scenes: Chester – 2.3, 4.2, 5.3, 9.3, 9.9
3 Scenes: Sergeant – 5.2, 7.1, 9.4
4 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 5.1, 6.2, 7.4
Michelle Weiser (13 Scenes)
2 Scenes: Peak – 2.3(?), 9.3
5 Scenes: Miggs – 3.1, 5.5, 7.4, 8.3, 9.8
6 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, 5.3, 6.2
Tyler Edwards (15 Scenes)
8 Scenes: Gabriel – 3.1, 3.2, 5.5, 7.4, 7.5, 9.3, 9.6, 9.8
7 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, 5.3, 6.2
Lauren Deaton (13 Scenes)
3 Scenes: Mrs. Varden – 3.1, 5.5, 9.8
3 Scenes: Dennis – 5.4, 9.2, 9.4
7 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, 5.3, 6.2
Aziza Macklin (13 Scenes)
6 Scenes: Dolly – 3.1, 7.2, 8.3, 9.1, 9.5, 9.8
7 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 4.2, 5.1, 5.2, 5.3, 6.2
Tess Talbot (10 Scenes)
5 Scenes: Mrs. Rudge – 4.1, 5.1, 9.2, 9.4, 9.6
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 72
5 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 4.2, 5.3, 6.2, 7.4
Mathys Herbert (13 Scenes)
9 Scenes: Barnaby – 4.1, 5.1, 5.2, 5.4, 7.1, 7.2 A, 8.2, 9.2, 9.4, 9.6
4 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 4.2, 6.2, 7.4
Ian Blanco (15 Scenes)
8 Scenes: Joe – 4.2, 7.1, 7.5, 8.1, 8.3, 9.1, 9.5, 9.8
7 Scenes: Bulldogs – 2.2, 5.2, 5.3, 6.2, 7.4
March 18, 2016 (1:12AM), pg. 73